


we're with you, whatever happens

by emptypockets



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Character Development, Hurt/Comfort, Lots of it, Psychological Torture, Team Bonding, Whump, because how else am i gonna spend the hiatus, there's some thirteen/yaz as a side plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-29
Updated: 2019-02-09
Packaged: 2019-10-18 16:36:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 29,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17584421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emptypockets/pseuds/emptypockets
Summary: But this feels different. This feels worse. The tendrils wrapping around her soul keep getting tighter, keep branching out, and keep pulling too deep for her to see the surface. Yaz, Ryan and Graham. She can feel them all, and nothing has ever hurt this much.-Weaponized telepathy, shared anguish, and a broken promise.





	1. low budget

**Author's Note:**

> (if you remember the Tru'kiel from those couple of chapters in my oneshot series: clean slate. same concept, different execution) 
> 
> WOW hello I've been working on this for a month. Every time I've ever written a multichapter story I've promised myself I'd write the whole thing before posting and this is the first time I've followed through. (Except for the last chapter that I'm taking my time on) So first of all, way to go me
> 
> This was a blast to write and also very frustrating because my laptop keyboard is an ass. I feel good about it though! I'm gonna post the first three chapters over the next day and then stagger the rest of them out after that. I promise this fic isn't quite as sad as it sounds so bear with me

Four pairs of content breathing, a vague smell of biscuits, and nothing but blackness in the Doctor’s view.

The beginnings of wakefulness take form of a hitch in her breath and the trailing of her fingertips along the floor. Smooth, normal. She shifts, eyes barely cracking open, surroundings obscured by her hair dangling in her face that she scatters with a sharp breath out.

Her field of view broadens and she bolts upright so quickly her hood falls over her eyes.

“Yaz, Ryan, Graham, wake up.”

The Doctor pushes her hood back behind her shoulders and presses her palms into the unfamiliar floor to brace herself into a hunch. For a moment the space the four lay in appears shapeless, and she has to put extra effort into focusing her gaze to find where the floor meets the walls. The room can only be a fourth of the size of the TARDIS console room, if even that, and she jumps to her feet to answer the rest of the dozens of questions that are about to pile too high to keep up with. “Guys, wake up!”

From the sound of their moans and groans and bodies slowly shifting against the floor she guesses they’re just as hesitant to draw themselves out of sleep as she was. The Doctor has to extend a hand and take small steps to find where the room ends and begins. When her palm connects with the wall she presses closer against it, fingertips caressing the surface so foreign and unusual that she almost expects them to fall right through it.

“Um, Doctor?”

One hand on the wall, she spins around to find the others rubbing sleep from their eyes and shifting tired legs. Ryan’s hands fall away from his face first and he drops his brow suspiciously, the turning cogs and racing thoughts in his mind apparent through narrowed eyes and stilled shoulders.

“Morning, fam.” She grins ear to ear. The unknown always excites her - well, often annoys her. But her friends are in one piece, they’re all together and not in any _obvious_ immediate danger, so the suspense of a puzzle waiting to be solved is just enough for her smile to be one hundred percent genuine. This is gonna be an interesting one. “We’re in a bit of a pickle.”

“Right, first off,” Yaz is still trying to squint away the grogginess as she speaks over Graham’s obnoxiously loud yawning. “Never say that again. Second, where on earth are we?”

She gets a _really_ good chuckle out of that. “Well, definitely not earth. That’s all I’ve got so far.”

Graham leans back on his elbows to examine the room from his space on the floor, muttering over his shoulder to Yaz. “You know, traveling with her, that’s really a figure of speech we should have deleted from our vocabulary by now.”

“Whoa.” Ryan slowly leverages himself to his feet and has to pause for a moment, squinting, tilting his head, adjusting his stance in hopes of making sense of the visual in front of him. “This place is weird looking.”

The Doctor’s eagerness makes itself known through her inflection and the way her hands rub briskly against each other. “I know, right? Messes with your head if you focus too long, but if you think _that’s_ weird, touch the wall.”

Eyes unwavering Ryan advances, hand extended, steps slowing the closer he gets as if he’s unsure where exactly the it is. He takes a guess and reaches out, comes into contact with nothing. “Is the wall even there?”

“Yup. Try again, but shut your eyes.”

He complies, blindly forcing his hand onward until his fingers collide with the surface. “That’s…”

“ _Trippy_ , isn’t it, but only if you’re looking at it. Strange.” Leaving Yaz and Graham in a confused groggy haze on the floor the Doctor sprints the short distance to join him. Her hand fumbles for landing as she reaches out. “I dunno if it’s meant to look like a hologram or what, because it sort of does, and also not at all. But obviously,” She finds the surface and gives it a pat. “It’s there. That’s a wall, alright. But, like, a _super_ low budget wall.”

Graham huffs. “You’re calling _that_ low budget?”

“Oh, very.” She adopts an only slightly more serious tone. “If our captors were any good they’d have locked us up somewhere like Volag-Noc. Prison planets are the best way to go, really. Plus, it’s got a library! Looks at this dump.” She frowns at the hazy grey tint to the room that gives it a gloomy, rainy-day feel and makes her eyelids heavy. “Nothing to do besides talk. And be very confused. Dunno about you lot, but I am _very_ confused.”

“Wait,” Yaz works her tired limbs until she’s standing. “You said captors. So we’ve definitely been captured?”

“Well, how else would we have gotten here?”

“Well you _are_ sort of mad.” Graham stands as well, giving his arms a shake.

“And unpredictable.” Ryan adds.

The Doctor’s jaw goes slack and she gawks at them in awe for a good few seconds. “Yeah but I wouldn’t abduct you! I’m not that sort of alien!”

Yaz raises her brow. “You abducted us the day after we met.”

“Yes, but,” She raises a finger. “That was an accident. Accidental abductions don’t count. And I got you back home, so it _double_ doesn’t count.”

“I would point out the fact that it took you fourteen tries to do so,” Graham interrupts, grazing over the Doctor’s under-her-breath mutter of _you just did._ “But shouldn’t we be focusing on getting out of here? It’s nice and all, cozy, but I can’t imagine we’re here for good reason.”

“Yes. Right. Good point Graham. Five points.” The Doctor points at him triumphantly then begins patting down her pockets. When she draws her sonic she stares at it a moment, surprised to find it. “Pretty dodgy abductors, I’d say. They didn’t even take my sonic.” She shakes her head with clear disappointment and paces from one corner of the room to the next, scanning up, down, around. “Amatuers.”

Yaz waits patiently for the Doctor to get some of her insistent routine sonicing out of her system before she speaks. “So, how do you think they got us here? Because come to think of it… I can’t remember what we were doing before this. Were we on the TARDIS?”

The Doctor pauses, frozen, taking on a contemplative frown because she hadn’t thought of that. She wracks her brain, presses into the deepest corners of her memory, finds nothing useful. “No idea.” She physically shrugs off the concern and resumes her pacing, finishing scanning the length of the walls then frowning down at the results.

Ryan’s interest piques at her expression. “What’s it say? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” She stares at the device in her hand, brow raised with disbelief. “Not a thing. Readings came back normal.”

“Is that bad?” Graham worries. “From the look on your face I take it that’s bad.”

“Not necessarily bad as much as it is weird.” She pockets the sonic and lifts her head to examine the boundless ceiling that she definitely can’t reach, but it’s unclear whether it’s a couple meters above her head or twenty, or if it simply goes on forever. “This room is a scientific anomaly. The sonic should be having a field day trying to analyze it.”

“But it’s not.” Yaz acknowledges. “So, what’s the game plan here?”

The Doctor is vaguely aware of more questions coming at her like ammo from every direction, filling her senses and making her head spin and her eyelids flutter. She’s really, _really_ tired all of a sudden, blinking against the sleep that tries to pull her down, shaking her hands against the gravity that’s blissfully trying to drag her tired body to the floor. More questions, then sudden silence. She can almost think straight. Almost.

“Blimey.” Graham rubs his forehead, words muffled through a yawn he barely suppresses. “I’m getting too old for this. I think all the suspense is taking it out of me. Could really do with another nap.”

The Doctor leans back against the wall, shoulders slumping in a mix of exhaustion and wonder as she stares past Graham to where Ryan stumbles and Yaz’s eyes droop. “I don’t think that’s just you, Graham.”

Everyone exchanges wary glances as a few scattered dots start to connect in step one of the mystery. Graham sits down, held upright by his hands braced against the floor.

“Right. Okay.” Her legs start to feel like jelly, begging her to relieve them of the weight that feels _much_ heavier than usual. Ryan and Yaz struggle similarly, and she watches them give up pretty quickly and lower themselves to the floor, eyes fixed on her worriedly and prompting an explanation that will ease their concern. “We’re all about to pass out within the next thirty seconds or so.” She groans in frustration and allows herself to slip down the wall, landing ungracefully on the floor with a thud. Ryan, Yaz and Graham’s eyes are threatening to close, their bodies slipping closer to the floor, so she speaks quicker. “Just a quick nap. Nothing to worry about.”

The last thing she sees before the tug of unconsciousness pulls her under is three frightened pairs of eyes, all fixed on her, each gaze completely unbelieving.

* * *

Everyone wakes up at the same time. Peacefully, slowly, and for a moment, blissfully unaware. Except for the Doctor.

She bolts upright with gasp that gives way to a series of shallow, terrified breaths that she has to work _really_ hard to get under control. Her fingers dig into the floor until her knuckles whiten and she hunches over on herself, eyes fixed on the floor, unadulterated fear making her blood run cold.

The others are slow to wake, but the second their eyes fall on the Doctor’s distressed form they bolt upright almost simultaneously.

“Doctor, what is it?” Yaz’s voice is croaky but insistent and aware. “What just happened?”

She takes slow, purposeful breaths and tries to regain her composure. The slightly painful tug at the corner of her mind is frighteningly familiar, and she places it instantly. Her speech is muffled, breathless, but definitive. “The Tru’kiel.”

Ryan, Graham and Yaz all exchange a look, but the word doesn’t ring any bells. Graham presses on. “The what, now?”

One more deep breath and the Doctor shifts back to lean against the wall, forearms resting on her knees, eyes focused on her hands. “I’ve got good news and bad news.”

“Good news first.” Ryan pleads.

She twists her hands together. “The good news is, and this is _really_ good news for once, our lives aren’t in danger. I think. Bad news is, and Yaz, sorry about this.”

“Don’t say it.” It’s insignificant annoyance, but Yaz still shakes her head.  
  
The Doctor smiles regretfully and claps her hands once, folding them together afterward and stating each word with low emphasis. “We’re in a very, _very_ serious pickle.”


	2. worst fears

Yaz and the others come to the conclusion pretty quickly that the Doctor’s pacing and muttering need not be interrupted, no matter how deafening and  _ irritating  _ the sound of her footsteps retracing their own same pattern back and forth across the floor are. Over, and over, and over, back and forth, left and right... up and down? The laws of sound travel are a bit warped in this… room. Holding cell.  _ Wherever the hell they are.  _

Admittedly, with her closest friends by her side a warm sensation of safety builds into a static subroutine in Yaz’s chest, calming her nerves, anchoring her to all the reasons she has to believe that everything will be fine. Even with the Doctor’s anxiety radiating in cold noisy waves, Yaz finds herself feeling much closer to content than she would have expected. She watches that crazy friend of hers turn her pacing into stomping, her head bobbing slightly up and down in time, like she’s trying to physically shake the answers out of her body. 

And Yaz smiles, because despite the looming danger, despite the fear, despite the  _ severity -  _ the Doctor looks ridiculous. 

“You’re gonna wear out those boots by the time we get out of here at that rate.” Yaz tests, watching for a reaction that would imply an actual conversation might be on the table, but the Doctor holds up an index finger to shush her with her eyes focused on the floor as she walks. Her hands fold together and she raises them to tap her chin repeatedly with her knuckles, eyes sliding closed. She’s trying really hard to focus, Yaz notices. To come up with the answers. And given herself and the boys have never even heard the word  _ Tru’kiel,  _ probably best to leave her to it..

Yaz reaches out a hand to test the wall that the Doctor and Ryan had been gawking over, and she’s quick to realize just how reasonable said gawking was. It takes her fingers a moment to find where the hazy, disorienting blurr gives way to an actual surface. It feels like a wall enough, not that she’s an expert on walls. What are alien walls even made of? 

“Weird, right?” 

She hadn’t even heard Ryan approach until his voice came booming from a spot directly behind her shoulder, and she starts, one hand on her chest to guide herself through heavy breaths, smacking him in the arm with the other. “Oi, you scared me.” 

“Sorry bout it.” He chuckles at the look on her face and takes a couple steps forward until they’re standing parallel. “But seriously. Isn’t that just… odd?” 

Her heart settles back into a steady enough rhythm and she shifts her focus back to the matter at hand. The sight of it almost prompts her to close her eyes, to look away, and the longer she tries to focus through the haze the fuzzier her head feels. She blinks a few times and takes a small step back. “Defo.”

“Messes with your head, doesn’t it? Only when you’re lookin’ though.” Ryan’s own hand falters a couple times before he makes contact with the surface. “Not to mention the ceiling. Is there even a ceiling?” 

Yaz takes his question with a grain of salt and tilts her head back, squinting, shaking her head when the sight above her only leaves a similarly unsettling feeling. “No clue.” 

They stand in silence for a moment. The room isn’t tiny, but small enough that each breath from each individual is loud and pronounced, bouncing off the walls and landing in their ears with the Doctor’s muttering cutting through the sound like a knife. She hears Graham huff impatiently, his hands slapping his knees then pressing into them to leverage himself to his feet. 

“Doc, I know you’ve got a system and all for this stuff,” He dares to cross the nonexistent barrier they’d set up between themselves and the Doctor, but he doesn’t invade her personal space. “But you’ve been at it for,” A glance at his left wrist. “Twenty minutes. Status update would be handy. We’re gettin’ antsy.” 

The Doctor, folded hands still pressed against her chin, drops them to her sides and ceases her pacing for the first time. A heavy breath carries through the room and thickens the air with her unease. 

“The Tru’kiel.” She nods, more to herself than the rest of them. 

“Yeah, you still haven’t told us what that is. Alien race? Name of an alien? Name of this place?” Ryan snaps his fingers each time he lists off a possibility, hoping to prompt some sort of explanation out of her that’ll maybe settle everyone’s minds. Even if just a little. 

The Doctor takes another deep breath and turns to face them. Legs bracing herself into a tall and sturdy position, hands raised and palms facing outward as ready companions to her oncoming ramble. Yaz notes,  _ her explanation stance.  _ It’s always the same.

“The Tru’kiel is an alien race from the planet Tudrilon. They’re telepathic.  _ Violently  _ telepathic.” 

Yaz tilts her head at that. “How can something be violently telepathic?” 

“Weaponized telepathy.” She emphasises, hands waving and circling each other as she speaks. “I’ve never seen one in the flesh because they don’t have to be even close to you in order to attack. And when they attack, it’s no fun. Never gotten close enough to look one in the eye because before I’m even close, they strike.” 

A beat of silence as everyone processes. Graham prompts on. “What sort of attack?”

“Well, that depends.” She huffs, flicking her hair away from her eyes and fixing her gaze somewhere past her friends as the memories paint themselves vividly. “The thing about the Tru’kiel is that they’re in a constant state of live evolution. Their capabilities are always within the same general range, whether it’s knocking you out,” She points at the floor to where the others had collapsed earlier on. “Attacking your memories, sometimes just trapping you in a state of paralysis where they can infiltrate your mind freely. They never have each ability for very long -  maybe a hundred years? Before their minds evolve and take on a new primary method. Therefore, every Tru’kiel is  _ slightly  _ different. Different ways to toy with you, different ways to hurt you. They can turn your worst fears into...” She searches for an example. “Not reality, but close enough to it. They can turn your worst fears into  _ physical pain _ . I’m not a big fan.”  

Yaz shudders and crosses her arms over her chest to stifle it. 

“And that’s who’s keeping us here?” Ryan is wide eyed, frightened but undoubtedly intrigued. “How do you even know?” 

“I felt it.” The Doctor’s expression darkens and Yaz can make out a slight tremble in the sound of her exhale. “In my brain. When they knocked me out it was all I  _ could  _ feel. After a telepathic encounter with them, the feeling’s hard to forget. It’s like a scent, almost. A  _ really  _ bad one, but in my head.” 

“I dunno about you two,” Graham nods to Yaz and Ryan then looks back to the Doctor. “But I can’t feel anything in my, you know,  _ head  _ that implies that anyone’s been digging around in there. And as far as attacks go, they could have done a lot more damage than just making us take a nap.” 

“That’s because you’re not telepathic. I am.” Her stance shifts a bit, hands on her hips now. “And besides, I don’t think that was an attack. I think that was them,” Her words trail off, eyes fixed on nothing, and Yaz is chilled to find she looks even more concerned than before. The Doctor grits her teeth, fingers digging uncomfortably into her hips. “I think that was them learning.” 

That leaves a specific uncomfortable chill hanging in the air, captivating tongues and stilling restless limbs. 

“Hold on,” Ryan blinks. “You’re telepathic?” 

“Touch telepath.” She wiggles her fingers but her eyes show her mind is somewhere far from the subject of her non-terrestrial capabilities. 

Yaz looks at the boys to find them looking about the same as she feels. Everyone is confused mostly, pieces of the puzzle not quite connecting, but the Doctor’s dark, chilling, almost defeated demeanor is what places the sinking feeling of dread in their stomachs. 

“Yaz,” The Doctor lifts her head suddenly, walking to stand in front of her so close that Yaz has to tilt her head back a bit to meet her eyes. “What are you afraid of? No,” She places her index finger over Yaz’s lips when she starts to respond and the Doctor allows the cogs in her mind to turn for a moment, rephrasing. “Yaz, what are you  _ most  _ afraid of?” 

The finger slips down and away from her face and Yaz feels a rush of warmth in her chest at the proximity. It makes it harder to think, harder to run through the list of childhood through adulthood fears and pick off which one is the worst. The Doctor takes a small step back, giving her a bit more space, and that warmth in her chest builds into a specific type of trepidation, quickening her pulse, slicking her palms. She grasps, then, a vague concept of her worst fear. And as she’s done a dozen times over, she pretends it’s not there. 

“Not sure, honestly.” Her shrug is half-hearted. Deflective. “Heights?” 

The Doctor hums considerately, lips pursed, nodding in agreement. “Pretty standard fear. One of the most rational in the books. Definitely somewhere in the top ten.”

“Wanna know my worst fear?” Ryan snickers, barely getting out the first syllable of whatever tangent he’s eager to spill out that’s definitely more aimed in the direction of lightening the mood than being genuinely informative. The Doctor interrupts.  

“No.” Her tone is firm and precise. “I already know your worst fear. Graham’s too.” She eyes the both of them so intensely that Yaz wonders if her telepathy is truly limited to touch. “And trust me. You don’t want to talk about it.” 

They’re both visibly taken aback. Ryan all but bites his tongue, mouth sealed shut, frown staggered and dumbfounded. Graham, she notices, sports an expression she’s only witnessed a handful of times. He looks sad, so stark against his trademark goofy, comic-relief lightness, and he opens his mouth to prompt the Doctor on. She turns away and Graham goes awfully quiet, deciding against whatever information he was intending on prying out of her. 

And with that, the Doctor is back to her pacing. Sonic uselessly drawn, the buzzing and whirring mere background noise to the pensive glances the humans give one other that speak for themselves. 

* * *

“It’s been hours, Doctor.” Back against the wall, one knee drawn to his chest and bored fingers fiddling with a loose thread of his jacket sleeve, Ryan sits and complains his heart out. He has every right. “Starting to feel like a sitting duck, here.” 

“Stand up, then.” The Doctor only dignifies him with a split second of eye contact before returning to her fiddling. The sonic in her hands buzzes at various frequencies as she flicks through setting after setting, tests and retests every enigmatically regular reading. She must have scanned the room a hundred times by now. She crosses her legs, leans back heavily into the wall and pockets her sonic in defeat. Temporary defeat. 

“What’s the point of all this?” Graham asks suddenly, perched against the wall as well not far away, and she has to admit it’s a fair question. “If they wanted us dead, wouldn’t they have done it already?” 

She feels Yaz’s presence before she sees it, her friend’s shoulder pressed warmly against her own as she sits at her side. “Good point. Thought about that, and I think it’s safe to say they don’t want us dead. Funny way to go about it if they do.” 

“What’s their plan, then?” Yaz quipps. “I mean, they could starve us out.” 

“Nah, too boring. And again, I really don’t think they want us dead. I’ve never seen them take a life, just toy with it.” 

“Well,” Graham raises a prompting eyebrow. “What then?” 

That same look from before crosses over the Doctor’s face. Dark, a crease in her brow bringing out her frown, eyes cast downward as if she’s hesitant to reveal her suspicion. “Information, probably.” 

“From you?” Ryan sits up straighter, eager to ease the boredom. “What sort of information?” 

“TARDIS, Time Lords, you name it.” She sinks in her seat a bit. The memories to back up her theory are exhausting. “It’s usually something like that. Can’t blame them, really. The whole of time and space wrapped up in a convenient blue box is hard to resist. Sometimes it’s them wanting information about my biology, or wanting access to my biology itself. Or just revenge.” 

“The Tru’kiel?” Yaz leans forward. “Have they captured you before?”

Another beat of hesitance, and the Doctor avoids all eye contact. “No, not the Tru’kiel.”

“Who, then?” 

She almost laughs but doesn’t muster up more than a sharp exhale. “Shall I go in alphabetical order or the other way ‘round?” 

Silence as they make sense of what she’s saying. 

“So.” Graham breaks it. A heavy sigh, eyes widening thoughtfully. “This happens to you quite a lot, then.” 

The Doctor runs her fingertips along her palm, trying to focus more on the physical sensation than the guilt. “And now I’ve gotten you three caught up in the crossfire.” Her head droops a bit. “I’ve got a lot of enemies, Graham.” 

“Including the Tru’kiel?” 

She presses her lips together into an apologetic smile. “Apparently.” 

At her left, Yaz audibly tries to breathe out some of the tension that’s starting to choke her from the inside out. “Well, I’ve got a lot of questions.” She admits. “But I’ll stick those on the back burner for now. Shouldn’t we be figuring out a way out of here?” 

The Doctor raises her sonic and gestures to it, head dropping back against the wall as she does with a worrying aura of hopelessness. “Not much we can do, Yaz.”

“How did they get us in here? This -  _ cell  _ or whatever doesn’t even have a door.” Ryan notes. “What is it with aliens and never having doors?” 

“The best prisons don’t have an exit, Ryan.” She ignores the way everyone deflates a bit at that, evidently exercising the notion that there may truly be no way out. She doesn’t dwell on such a thing. If there’s a way in, there’s a way out. End of story - but Ryan raises a good point. 

The Doctor pitches forward onto her hands and knees and presses her nose against the floor, dismissing the exclamations of disgust coming from her friends as she inhales deeply. “Doesn’t smell of ion residue.” She sniffs once more then darts her tongue out to give the floor a taste with zero hesitation. 

“Gross!” 

“Doctor!” 

She sinks back onto her heels and scrunches her face up in disgust. Her friends’ faces wear a similar  _ grossed out  _ sneer. 

“Why the hell did you do that?” Yaz laughs out, gawking, getting an absolute kick out of the sight despite everything. 

“Ryan made a good point about there being no door. Wondered if we’d been teleported, but I don’t think so.” She sniffs again, this time to rid her senses and replenish them with fresh oxygen that somehow still circulates. She’ll come back to that later. “Nah, definitely not teleport. It leaves a sort of tang.” 

Graham’s face is frozen in disgust. “What  _ did  _ it taste like, then?”

She wets her lips with her tongue and smacks them thoughtfully, processing the taste then physically shuddering. “Ryan’s shoe.” 

Ryan glares at her like she’s committed a personal offence, but his forced frown breaks and he falls into sync with the laughter of Graham and Yaz. The Doctor is quick to join in. 

The atmosphere lightens, and she’s eternally grateful for it. Smiling faces. She lives for those smiling faces, specifically  _ their  _ smiling faces. They’re contagious every time, without fail, without falter. It keeps her going. Gives her something to hang onto when times get tough. When the dangerous mysteries get tricky. This is one of those moments when it really hits her. Just how much she cares about them. 

The Doctor is caught up for a moment, reveling in the brighter, mutually shared frame of mind, hoping it lasts. 

It doesn’t. 

The laughter loses a bit of energy, like they’re all distracted, and she notices Graham’s is the first to stop alltogether. She feels it before she sees it. The  _ something’s not right  _ prickle on the back of her neck, the weight of the beginnings of dread bubbling in her stomach. She stalls, processing, eyes wandering for the source of the abnormality. Ryan says Graham’s name, first in a questioning tone, then building in volume and strength until he’s all but shouting. Demanding. 

The Doctor springs into action, scuffling on her hands and knees over to where Graham sits hunched over on himself. His head is bowed, limp against his chest, and she fears he’s passed out again until her eyes fall on the tremor of his hands. Rapid breaths. The occasional low, poorly concealed groan. Graham’s hands slide to the back of his neck and he grips it tightly, trying to breathe through whatever has taken control. 

“Graham!” By now, Graham’s silence has escalated Ryan’s demands into all out hysterics. He grips his shoulder and shakes it softly, then harder, prompting any type of response. “Graham, what’s the matter?” 

“Graham?” Her own voice is lower, calmer, more informed as she lays her palm over his other shoulder. “Graham, can you hear me?” 

For the first time he lifts his head just enough that they can see the sickly pallor to his face. His eyes are unfocused, glazed over with pain or something far less simple. 

“Graham.” Yaz chimes in, having joined the hovering the moment it was initiated. She reaches for his hand and he retracts it with a full body flinch. 

His head lifts a little more though his condition seems trapped in whatever fit he’s been thrown into. The Doctor’s eyes shine, wide and pleading, apologetic, growing with understanding. 

“It’s,” He speaks for the first time, still focusing on nothing. “It’s just like-” 

“I know.” Her whisper is broken, cracked with realization so saddening she wants to sink into the floor. “I’m so sorry.” 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> again, i spent a whole month on this thing, so let me know what you think !!


	3. grief

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so after this i'll probably post a chapter every other day, but i'm not sure. we'll see how it goes.
> 
> also, the more i wrote the more i realized i definitely drew inspiration from 'Non sum qualis eram' by wreckageofstars. It's a beautiful, moving read. Definitely worth checking out

It’s a sensation he was so sure he was rid of, and that’s what really draws out the sheer anguish the of pins and needles that swallow his limbs; the breath he just can’t seem to catch.

Graham had dealt with it alone, initially - the aftermath of treatment. The sickening side effects of chemotherapy. His next of kin so far gone, an out of sight, out of mind type of scenario. He never entertained the thought of asking someone to come round on those days it was particularly bad. He’d spend it in bed - not wanting to call it a sulk, but knowing deep down that’s all it was. The exhaustion would anchor him to his bed, the ache in his muscles would thwart his default cheery attitude, dragging him down. It was hell. He hated it, and he suffered through it alone. 

Until Grace. 

She wasn’t his first chemo nurse. His first was a right buzzkill, never engaging in conversation for more than a couple minutes, and always out of a disgruntled sort of obligatory pity instead of genuine interest. On Grace’s first day as his primary nurse it was like a lightswitch had been flipped on. That was the first time he felt anything but hopeless despair for his future.

He started actually looking forward to treatment day. 

“What? It’s just like what? Doctor, why isn’t he answering?” 

“Give him some space, Ryan.” 

The voices bleed through his memories, tainting them, and Graham squeezes his eyes as tightly as he can to block them out. The waves coursing through his brain and body are so similar - so  _ identical  _ to the discomfort post treatment that all he can do is tie himself to the one thing that got him through it then. 

He almost smiles with the realization that even now, Grace is taking care of him. 

They’d bonded. So closely, so quickly, and eventually she took the liberty of coming over to his flat for a couple days following a session. He used to protest,  _ what an idiot he was,  _ but Grace had a way of forcing her way into areas she always seemed to know were necessary. Once she was there, Graham could never imagine facing his trials without her. 

He must look in quite a state because there are steadying hands on his shoulders. A voice telling him to breathe, another telling him to open his eyes. He doesn’t want to do either. 

Graham flexes his fingers, clenches and unclenches his fists, pants through the nausea. It’s so uncomfortable, so painful, but above all, just unsettling. Hollow. Because the last time he had to face this, Grace was at his side. 

His eyes flicker open, figures drifting in and out of his field of view, dizzying him, and his shoulders go impossibly stiff. None of the figures are Grace. No reason to keep his eyes open, then, so he closes them. Presses his forehead into his knees, draws in several shuddering breaths and is overwhelmed with grief. Grief that towers high above even the worst of his physical discomfort. 

It’s then that Graham learns - even good memories can be traumatizing. 

“Graham.” That’s the Doctor’s voice, he notes, finally able to distinguish it from sheer whitenoise. “Graham, I’m so sorry, but you’re gonna have to suffer through this for a few minutes. It won’t last too long. You’re doing excellent. Try to open your eyes.”  

He sinks, feeling patronized. Grace never patronized him. 

“Hang in there.” Yaz. Sweet Yaz. 

“You’ve got this, granddad.” Ryan.  _ Oh, Ryan.  _ His voice is a lot more prominent than it was before. Less afraid, though traces are still there. Graham feels his sturdy presence at his side, his hand on his shoulder, the grip something he tries to focus on. A low groan, somewhat from the ache, mostly from the mental anguish that he’s  _ really  _ ready to be rid of. 

He feels a tad more lucid. A tad more in control. He leans towards that mentality, trying to make it stronger. 

“I don’t like this.” His quiet, defeated voice is shattering, even to himself. Hearing it almost makes wince, but  _ sod dignity.  _ He’s ready for this to be over. 

“We’re all here, Graham.” He forces his eyes open, finding himself surrounded with affection. The Doctor kneels before him, one hand covering his coat-clad forearm. He watches her fingers drift accidentally, making contact with the skin on the top of his hand. She flinches, drawing her hands back to herself for safe keeping, and while Graham doesn’t miss the uncomfortable furrow of her brow, he doesn’t dwell on it. One thing at a time. He doesn’t have a choice. 

Ryan sits at his left side, Yaz sits at his right. He hates being fussed over, hates the spotlight, but their presence provides an undeniable sense of safety.  _ His grandkids,  _ he thinks, with an actual proper albeit slight smile. Even the Doctor, nutty and independent as she is, is someone he’s taken quite a shine to. When he looks at her he feels the same sort of affection he feels for Ryan and Yaz - not that she can’t take care of herself, but he’s happy to be everyone’s granddad. It’s his God-given roll, feels like. 

His breathing has started to steady. Good thing, too. It was making him dizzy. 

“Deep breaths.” The Doctor encourages, and he meets her eyes for the first time. She smiles, his improvement evident through his awareness. “You’re almost there.”

And suddenly, it’s like someone hit the off switch. Every last ounce of the physical turmoil is sucked out, leaving him breathless, sagging in his seat, leaving nothing but the mental wounds behind. 

Graham straightens from his hunch and slumps backwards against the wall. He blinks rapidly, trying to clear his head, hoping the emotions will be hoovered out with the rest of the ordeal. To his dismay, so far at least, they’re sticking around. 

The Doctor backs up a bit to give them some room as Ryan forces himself into Graham’s field of view. Both hands are on his shoulders now, as if Ryan’s trying to hold him to the spot, afraid his mind will drift away again. 

“Are you okay?” His voice is so tainted, so fretful. Graham’s heard it before, but never aimed in his own direction. 

It takes him a minute to gather up the courage to speak. He feels frozen, though in control of it, like he’s afraid the wrong word or shift of his limbs will bring him back to that terrible place. 

“Yeah.” He nods, feeling like he’s aged about fifty years in the last five minutes. “Yeah, I am now.” 

In the background the Doctor stands, holding the sonic over Ryan’s head to give Graham a quick scan. He watches her expression for clues as she squints down at the device, but as per usual, it’s pretty much unreadable. 

Yaz stands as well and tugs the Doctor’s sleeve to guide her to the opposite end of the room. There’s not much that can be done about privacy, in a space like this, but Graham appreciates that she’s giving it a shot. They speak in hushed tones amongst themselves and Graham lets himself tune it out, focusing on Ryan and nothing else. 

“What happened?” Ryan still looks terribly shaken, distressed by what he witnessed. Graham might’ve felt embarrassed if his exhaustion didn’t drown it out. 

“I have no idea.” He shifts himself up a bit, arms feeling more spaghetti-esque than ever before. He wants to go on, to elaborate somehow, but he doesn’t know where to start. 

Ryan moves from his previous uncomfortable crouch to sit cross legged on the floor in front of him. “You said it was…  _ like  _ something. What did it feel like?” 

Graham leans his head back against the wall, a heavy sigh escaping his lips and puffing out his cheeks. “You weren’t around much when I was still going through chemo. You didn’t see what it… did to me. After a session I’d feel…  _ so  _ terrible, Ryan.” 

Feeling more informed though no less concerned, Ryan’s shoulders droop a bit. “So just now, it… felt like you had cancer?” 

“The chemo, more specifically. The days afterward.” His eyes fix somewhere past Ryan, imagining. Remembering. Remembering hurts. “Your nan would help me through it. She was  _ so  _ kind, Ryan. And very, very bossy.” Ryan chuckles at that, and Graham can’t help but join in. “Though you already knew that.” 

Ryan’s brief liveliness gives way to consideration, face falling into realization. “So. That’s what the Tru’kiel do, then. The Doctor mentioned worst fears, makes sense that they’d use your cancer against you.”

Graham hums thoughtfully, nodding routinely in affirmation, but something still doesn’t feel quite right. The pieces don’t connect like they should. Sure, cancer is terrifying _.  _ Was.  _ Was  _ terrifying. But as far as worst fears go, cancer didn’t even scratch the surface. 

Losing someone close to him.  _ That’s  _ his worst fear. A box that’s already been checked. 

The Doctor’s suddenly crouched at Ryan’s left while Yaz hovers at a respectful distance, not wanting to overcrowd but visibly ready and waiting to help, however, whenever, if need be. 

“How you feelin’?” The Doctor rests her forearms on her bent knees and folds her hands, head tilted in sympathetic questioning. 

Graham chuckles weakly, but the smile is there. “Wrung dry, but worlds better than all of,” he waves his hand symbolically for lack of proper phrasing. “ _ That _ .”

The Doctor’s compassionate frown is far less questioning than Ryan’s. It morphs into one of guilt, clear as day, her whole expression sagging. “Graham, I’m so sorry you had to go through that.”

“Wasn’t your fault.” He assures sincerely. 

“Basically was, though.” Her frown deepens. “You lot wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for me.” 

“You say that,” Graham starts, “You say we’re just caught in the crossfire or whatever, but  _ that, _ ” he makes the same vague gesture with his hand. “Felt pretty personal, Doc.” 

“Worst fears.” Her words harden, her hatred for the Tru’kiel audibly building by the minute. “They know how to get under your skin.” 

“But the thing is,” He wasn’t sure before what exactly felt off, but it’s unhidden now. “They used my fear of my cancer against me. And don’t get me wrong, that was one hell of a fright back in the day.” His brow furrows, confused once again. “But that’s far from my  _ worst  _ fear. My worst fear has already come true.” 

“Losing Grace.” She muses, eyes unwavering. 

Graham nods. “So if they mess with us by using our worst fears, why would they use the cancer?” 

The Doctor stares at him, head tilted thoughtfully but he can tell she already holds the answer. It’s like she’s waiting, watching, eager for him to connect the dots. When he has nothing to offer, she gives him a hint. “Graham, how did you meet Grace?” 

He knows she already knows the answer to that and is bewildered as to why she’d even ask. “She was my chemo nurse.” He provides anyways, face twisted in confusion then drooping slowly into devastating realization. “Oh.” 

She gives him a couple seconds to process, nodding in affirmation. “You never would have met Grace if it weren’t for the cancer.” Every time she says her name his body goes a little more boneless, his frown grows a little deeper. “ _ That  _ is the origin of your grief, of your worst fear, so that’s what the Tru’kiel attacked. It’s not all black and white with this lot; they get creative.” 

Graham feels heavy. He just wants to lie down, sleep it off, but sleep will probably just work opposite. 

“I’m sorry, Graham.” She squeezes his shoulder, apologizing for the dozenth time because, apparently, it never feels like quite enough. She stands, leaving him alone with Ryan, and Graham looks at him for the first time in a few minutes. 

There’s that look again. Ryan’s a good lad, a bit full of himself sometimes, but Graham’s always known how deep his compassion can run. Finding it once again directed at himself makes him instinctively sad and a tad guilty, not wanting anyone to feel for him that much for their own sake if nothing else. But, undeniable, something he can’t ignore, is the fact that this is the first time he’s felt so deeply  _ cared about  _ since Grace died. He knew already that Ryan loved him - reaching ‘granddad stage’ a few weeks ago had been all the confirmation needed, but this is something else. He appreciates it, if nothing more. 

Ryan smiles at him, claps the back of his shoulder in an oddly comforting manner, then stands and extends a hand down in Graham’s direction to help him up. 

Graham’s lips quirk into a grin, and after a quick self-survey to make sure he’s strong enough to stand, he takes Ryan’s hand. 

 


	4. together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leggo chapter 4!! By now y'all have a general idea of what's going down, but I promise. More pain to come

“Doctor.” Ryan catches her arm as she tries to whisk past - quickly, fretfully, like she’s running from the question he hasn’t even asked yet. He has to give her wrist a tug to really captivate her attention, and her head swings around to face him so quickly the ends of her hair only narrowly miss his eye. “Doctor,” He repeats, because he  _ really  _ needs her to focus. “Do you have a plan?” 

He feels hopeful, because from the brief looks of it so does she. She glowers at him incredulously, squaring her shoulders, index finger jabbing in his direction and face lifted into the beginnings of an  _ of course I do!  _ that will no doubt be followed by a step by step guide that heaven knows they’ll have to ask her to rephrase half a dozen times. 

But before any words have left her mouth, before the ramble can begin, the hopeful light to her eyes falters. Her confident stance slumps noticeably, like she’s not even trying to mask her worry. 

That alone is what concerns Ryan the most. 

“Ryan-” 

“No.” He’s suddenly overwhelmed; stricken and dazed because if she can’t get them out of here, no one can. “Doctor, tell me you have something. Anything. I don’t want to see Graham go through that again. I don’t want to see any of the rest of us go through that either, and we will, won’t we?” 

Her silence; the way she avoids his eyes, searching for the right words but unable to find them. It’s an answer enough. 

There’s a part of him that feels sorry for her, then. He can see it in her eyes; not just the uncertainty, not just the lack of hope, but the way she visibly kicks herself for it. She’s assigned herself the role of the protector - of the one who holds it all together. Nobody’s perfect, but she’s set a standard for herself, alright. And that’s what makes him almost angry _._

She’s given them hope, just by being there with them. The revelation that she’s at a loss is debilitating. Ryan doesn’t want to feel betrayed, failed, but in that moment the fear is overpowering common sense. He almost snaps at her, almost raises his voice, almost balls his fists in routine habit when his heart starts to pound the way it does now. 

Deep breath. 

_ She’s trying her best.  _

“Leave her alone, Ryan.” Yaz’s voice is calm, reasoning, but serious. He spares her a glance to find her gaze captivating, holding him to the spot, earnest eyes meeting his own and flicking briefly towards the Doctor. When they return to his own they’ve morphed into something almost pleading, definitely sad. Immensely compassionate.  _ Give her a break.  _

Translation:  _ She’s trying her best.  _

That’s the most any of them can hope for, any day, and fate or whatever it’s equivalent is tends to be on their side. They’ll get out of here. No other option. 

Ryan gives the Doctor the benefit of the doubt. No other option.

He smiles at her then, small and a bit apologetic, and she nods at him understandingly.  _ I get it,  _ her expression reads, and he feels guilty for his almost outburst. She may be alien, but for an alien she sure does seem to  _ feel  _ the same way humans do. She’s not immortalized to sentiment, and he takes special note of that. 

The Doctor looks over to where Graham sits slumped, emotionally exhausted, and she breathes out heavily.

“Go sit with him for a bit.” She orders, lackluster. “If we’re unconscious it’s a lot easier for us to be tampered with, so keep him awake alright?” 

Ryan nods, grateful for a task. Grateful for that slight sense of purpose that’s more akin to their usual adventures. Usual, less debilitating adventures, if an adventure is even what you could call this. 

Nah, not an adventure. This just  _ sucks.  _

* * *

 

“Hey.” Yaz had been watching her for a while. Analyzing, understanding - or trying to, rather. She understands enough, can feel the weight of unspoken repentance radiating off of her friend in thick waves, and it breaks her heart. She stands behind her now, not missing the way the Doctor purposefully keeps her back to her, and Yaz touches her shoulder to gently try and turn her around. “You okay?” 

She twists her head around first, then her body follows, slow and purposeless. 

“Sulking doesn’t suit you.” That’s a lie. Everything suits her, but Yaz pokes the attempt to lift her spirits anyways. She smiles warmly, pleased to receive a smile in return. 

“‘m not sulking.” The Doctor retorts, that familiar teasing glimmer to her eyes returning for a moment. “Just thinking.”

“Any progress?” Yaz starts, realizes it might be a ill-chosen question as the glimmer in the Doctor’s eyes starts to fade. She backtracks, tries again. “Any way I can help?” 

The Doctor’s arms slowly extend outward and she twists back and forth, looking around the small, useless room pointedly. “What do you think?” 

Yaz sighs, not used to the role of holding everyone’s senses together. It takes her a minute to figure out what to say. “Is that what’s buggin’ you? Not being able to do anything?” 

The sick, pained smile that appears on the Doctor’s face is response enough, but she elaborates anyways. “Look around, Yaz. We’re stuck, there’s literally nothing in here besides us, and even my sonic isn’t doing any good. There’s nothing I can do,” a shuddering exhale. “ _ Nothing  _ I can do.” 

The quiet admission threatens to grip fearfully at her heart, but she pushes the negative thought away when she remembers an important factor. “You said they’re not out to kill us, right? So whatever they do, whatever happens, in the end we’ll be alright.”

“Alive doesn’t always mean alright.” The Doctor mumbles, and it’s a chilling revelation. “I’ve dealt with this lot before. The things they put you through, the things they make you see and feel,” her words start to run away, her eyes unfocused in the beginnings of panic, and Yaz grabs her hand. Her heart lurches at the way the Doctor grips it tight in return, like her hand is what’s anchoring her to sanity. “It’s… very traumatic, Yaz. Especially for humans. It leaves a scar on your mind, something that-” She trails off, realizing she’s getting away from herself and possibly saying the wrong things. Her fingers curl tighter around Yaz’s and her head lowers, eyes briefly drifting shut, opening when she continues. “I’m not trying to scare you. I don’t want to scare you. But at this point, Yaz. I have to be honest. I mean, look what they did to Graham, and that’s only the beginning.” 

Yaz tilts her head, listening, letting the Doctor get it all out of her system and not allowing her words to inflict the vice grip of terror that they easily could. She doesn’t know how to make her feel better, if she  _ can  _ make her feel better, or if there’s even any use in trying. But she states the only solid fact she knows, one that soothes her own mind, and squeezes the Doctor’s hand for emphasis. “We’re all together.” She insists. “We’ll face this together. We’ll deal with it, then sooner or later, we’ll be back in the TARDIS. All we can do is figure this out as we go along.” 

The Doctor nods vigorously, letting out a short breath. “You’re right.” She smiles, a brief huff of a laugh, meeting Yaz’s eyes with a heartfelt sincerity to her voice that she doesn’t hear often. “Yasmin Khan, right again.” 

Those eyes, that smile, the soft inflection of her voice makes Yaz’s pulse skyrocket. Wordless, stunned by a wave of affection, all she can do is smile.

The Doctor tilts her head like she’s listening to something, and her eyes are skeptical and concerned. “You okay?” 

Yaz immediately nods, squeezes the Doctor’s hand once more to (hopefully) distract her, and releases it. “Now, we really need to have a conversation about this habit of yours of  _ licking things when you want to know more about them. _ ”

Her mouth hangs open, offended. “Oi! There’s a lot you can learn about something from the taste of it. People always sniff and poke and prod,” she pauses, probably for effect, hand raised to punctuate her words. “But no one ever tastes. I’m just taking one for the team here.” 

“You’re gonna get some horrible disease one of these days if you keep that up.” 

“Like I said: taking one for the team.” 

Yaz let’s their somewhat distracted conjoined laughter fade into the background with Ryan and Graham’s quiet heart to heart from the other corner of the room. The Doctor has her head tilted like she’s trying to listen in and Yaz almost smacks her to draw attention to the rudeness of eavesdropping. 

But she can’t. She’s close enough to make out every detail of the Doctor’s face, every crinkle, every line, and Yaz finds herself searching the woman’s averted eyes for untold stories. 

There’s a darkness there, shadowed behind her gaze, something typically not noticeable unless you’re looking  _ really  _ hard.  _ How old is she again?  _ Yaz wonders, almost aloud, catching her tongue just in time. Pretty old, surely. There’s something about her that’s ancient. Not in the way she talks, walks, or anything else obvious - but Yaz is sure of it. Memories, dreams, whatever goes on in that head of hers visibly catch up with the Doctor sometimes. Every now and again, Yaz can see her walls drop. Every now and then, her facade snaps. Her eyes glaze over with something unrecognizable but every time, the walls are quick to rise again. 

God, she has so many questions. 

The Doctor’s head snaps back in her direction, aimless tangent on the tip of her tongue. She must have caught Yaz staring, because her head is cocked to one side, brow lifted in a soundless inquiry.  _ What?  _

Yaz looks deep into her eyes and finds the embodiment of the universe within them. Every solar system in every galaxy must be seared into her very existence - because how else would her eyes just  _ shine  _ like that? 

Some unrecognizably bold part of Yaz’s subconscious prompts her to blurt out everything she’s thinking, but she can’t. 

She feels a bit doomed, a bit too convinced that there’s no coming back from this. No one on earth could ever possibly compare to the universe standing before her.

_ God,  _ she really likes her, and it hurts. It hurts so, so badly. 

Because the universe doesn’t love people back. 

“Doc!” 

Yaz and the Doctor’s heads whirl around simultaneously at Graham’s shout. 

His hand is on Ryan’s shoulder, speaking quiet comforts that Yaz can’t make out, and she doesn’t try. Her horrified stare is fixated on Ryan where he sits hunched, forehead pressed to his knee, hand clutching his left arm. 

The tendons in the Doctor’s neck stiffen and twitch, and Yaz can hear her breathing speed up. 

“Ryan.” Yaz sighs out his name with all the sorrow and sympathy she didn’t even know she was capable of feeling to this extent. The Doctor lurches forward and Yaz is right behind her, both of them falling to their knees and prompting Ryan to lift his head. 

He does, slow and pained, his face contorted into a clear mixture of agony and distress. He looks absolutely mortified, tense and rigid, but still manages to force a strained smile. “My turn.”

* * *

The Doctor feels all the oxygen force itself from her lungs as she kneels in front of Ryan. 

His grimace of a smile doesn’t hold for long as another wave of what she’s not sure is pain or panic takes him over, sends him bowing in on himself despite Graham’s fretful hands trying to pull him back up. 

“Come on, son.” The man is choking on his words, eyes clouding and hands shaking, so similarly to when the Tru’kiel had targeted himself. The Doctor knows he’s playing over in his head how horrible the experience was, and right on cue, his hand squeezes Ryan’s shoulder a bit more forcefully. A tear slides down his cheek. He’s hurting for him.

“Ryan,” She’s starting to feel like a bit of a broken record, fussing over them like this. Despite the deeply rooted concern that leaves her frozen for an instant, she’ll do everything she can for him to make the experience as painless as possible. She lays a hand over his knee to find his whole body shuddering, and her eyes train in on the hand that’s spasming against his left bicep. “Ryan, can you open your eyes? Can you tell me what you’re feeling?” 

He opens his mouth, eager to respond, but his mouth snaps shut. She can hear his teeth grind against each other and his head drops again, the hand on his arm moving to press up against his sternum. 

Graham slips an arm around his back to hold him upright, and the Doctor’s chest feels heavy at the sight of Ryan leaning into him a bit. He’s physically weak, that’s for certain, but judging by the way the crease of his brow eases up a tad, she can see he’s simply seeking out solace in Graham’s presence. 

The Doctor reaches out with her other hand, but she’s hesitant. Graham’s a lot quicker, hand snaking around to press his fingers to Ryan’s wrist. She raises a questioning eyebrow at him, prompting his findings, and Graham lets out an audibly shaky breath to regain his bearings. 

“He’s not too bad off.” He mumbles, distracted, fretful, holding his grandson against his side and doing whatever he can to try and calm him down. If anything, Ryan’s heavy breaths only quicken. 

“Ryan, look at me.” Unsatisfied with Graham’s diagnoses she extends a hand to check Ryan’s pulse. “Listen to me, if anything. What you’re feeling isn’t real. The Tru’kiel are-” Her fingers reach his wrist, her skin touches his, and all in the span of a second the Doctor’s limbs buckle and she collapses backwards with a loud gasp, wide eyes, and a hand pressed tight against her chest. 

“Doctor!” She falls right into Yaz’s grasp and feels her arm worm around her torso, holding her upright, braced against Yaz’s shoulder. It’s all the Doctor can do to  _ breathe  _ for a moment, the surge of adrenaline dissipating, the sudden painful thundering of her hearts beginning to ease. 

Graham’s worried stare is only on her for a moment before he’s back to staring down, helplessly at Ryan, who’s half lidded eyes are trained unwavering on the Doctor, concerned and questioning despite everything he’s feeling himself. 

She feels Yaz give her shoulder a shake, say something in a calming tone in her ear, but the realization has hit. “It’s his heart.” She announces, forcing herself upright and inching forward. 

Graham shakes his head more out of confusion than disagreement. “His pulse is fast, but not dangerously. He’s just frightened.” She doesn’t miss the way his hands tighten their grip. 

The Doctor nods, placing a hand over Ryan’s sleeve to gain his attention, making a point to avoid skin-to-skin contact. “I don’t think he knows that.” Before Graham’s questions have time to catch up, she’s snapping her fingers in front of Ryan’s face. “Hey, come on mate, look at me. I know it hurts, but you need to tell me exactly what you’re feeling. We can talk you through this.” 

Ryan doesn’t budge, but she can tell he’s aware. Judging by the slightly increased tension in his shoulders, he definitely heard her, likely is too afraid to speak. 

“This is just the Tru’kiel playing tricks on you. It’s gonna get a lot worse before it gets any better if you can’t tell me what you’re feeling.” Her empathy, her concern and all her love is clear as day in the pitch of her voice, but there’s a seriousness to it that can’t be ignored. 

Ryan lifts his head, eyes meeting hers as he gulps audibly. He shudders, body threatening to cave in on itself, but Graham holds him tight. “This is what it felt like for her.” He grunts out. 

The Doctor pauses, deciphering, and makes the connection by the look on Graham’s face. There’s only one occasion in which he makes _that_ face, and it’s quickly confirmed.   
  
Graham’s voice is tinged with emotion, distraught. “Your nan?” 

But to everyone’s considerable confusion, Ryan shakes his head. 

“Mum.” 


	5. kitchen sink

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (trigger warning for panic attacks)
> 
> chapter five!! this is one of my favorites

Cold, invisible fingers form a vice grip on Ryan’s heart, it feels like. Squeezing the life out of him from the inside out, sending waves of agony, pulses of anguish.

His heart is pounding, he can’t breathe right and it  _ hurts.  _ The hand on his chest spasms and curls and he’s left balling his shirt in his fist, hunched over, grunting through the pain. 

A hand lays over his own, and he forces his eyes open to find Graham anchoring him in place. Running a hand up and down Ryan’s left arm, wrapping his fingers around his bicep and squeezing tight - and he almost stops breathing all together, because he can’t feel a thing. 

“Deep breaths, son.” Graham says, voice quiet, calm, aimed to put him at ease. Ryan twists his hands together, digs his nails into his palm, squeezes his knees, settles for wrapping both arms around his middle. He’s just about numb head to toe. His limbs feel like they aren’t even there; a  _ lot  _ of him feels like it’s not even there - like he’s just a consciousness hanging onto a dying vessel. 

He’s vaguely aware of his whole body shaking. The fist in his chest curls it’s nonexistent fingers and punches at his ribcage. Ryan doesn’t hear himself groan, realize his eyes are closing or notice his body slumping to the floor until there are three pairs of hands gripping the material of his coat and tugging him back up against the wall. 

“Ryan, you have to hold on.” The Doctor. Unmistakable. Through half lidded eyes he sees her face hovering back and forth before his, the occasional snap of her fingers forcing him awake. 

He focuses for a moment. The blurr gives way to clarity, and actual shapes begin to form in his vision instead of the wobbly haze that was hesitant to subside. One deep inhale, steadying, assuring. 

His exhale is harsh, tinged with panic, and he ducks his head to hide from the memories. 

“No, no, no, I don’t want to think about that.” He can’t hear himself, but feels the vibrations of speech in his sternum. 

There’s a new hand holding his. He doesn’t know who’s but he holds it tight. 

Clear as day, the images consume him. Six years of grief. Six years of nightmares. Six years since one of the most traumatic moments of his entire life. No therapist or empathetic family member ever prepared him for this. 

His mum. Beautiful, kind, caring, warm. His subconscious rebuilds her from memory, every detail of her face, the somehow graceful movements of her hands as she scrubs at a dinner plate. 

“No.” He presses his palms into his temples and closes his eyes. The lack of visual interference strengthens the images. His heart thunders, and he opens his eyes again. 

The Doctor, Graham and Yaz are all his eyes can make out, but within seconds the figures morph into a haze. He’s staring right at his kitchen sink, the sound of water rushing from the faucet building into a deafening volume. The hands on his head slip back to press against his ears.  _ No. I don’t want to see this again.  _

He sees his mum. She twists back, hands covered in soapy suds, smiles at him, and turns back to the sink. Says something along the lines of taking the chicken out of the freezer. He always forgot to take the chicken out of the freezer. 

He blinks. The water continues to run, the plugged sink overflowing and dampening the floor. His eyes follow the downpour. 

His mum. Unconscious, face down, arms strewn haphazardly in a sickening twist. No sign of waking, no sign of standing up. 

No movement of breath. No sign of life. 

Ryan feels dizzy. He’s hyperventilating, squeezing his shoulders and drawing both knees to his chest. Everything hurts. His body, his mind, his soul, the very essence of his being  _ hurts.  _

“Ryan, listen.” The Doctor’s voice sounds like it’s coming from inside a tunnel. Far away, aimless, the sound bouncing around and just happening to fall on his ears. “You’re not having a heart attack. The Tru’kiel are using your memories against you; weaponizing them. You’re okay. You’re safe.” 

He shuts his eyes. He’d cover his ears too, if his grip on his shoulders weren’t the only thing keeping his heart from jumping out of his chest. 

“He’s not having a heart attack.” The statement is accompanied with a squeeze of his hand that he’s finally able to identify as Yaz. “But I think he's __ having a panic attack.” 

He almost opens his eyes at that. Heart attacks kill you. Panic attacks don’t. His mind is soothed just a fraction. 

“Ryan doesn’t have panic attacks.” Graham. 

“He used to when we were in school.” There’s shifting now. Bodies moving back and forth, repositioning. “Give him some space.” 

Graham’s hand is still on his shoulder and the grip tightens, like he’s hesitant to move away. 

“Graham, give him some space.” 

The grip loosens, then disappears all together. Ryan’s breathing gets a little easier. 

“Ryan, I know you don’t want to open your eyes, but if this is  _ anything  _ like what you went through when we were kids, I can help you. Please.” The raw emotion in Yaz’s voice is what gives him the strength to even  _ try.  _ He just wants to curl up, whack his head on the floor until it knocks him out. Anything to stop feeling.

His closed eyes flutter, then open into narrow slits. The warm lighting in the room is brighter than he remembers. 

Yaz sits cross legged in front of him. Graham is only a couple paces behind her, one hand halfheartedly outstretched, ready to help,  _ desperate  _ to help. The Doctor towers above them, standing, watching, head tilted. Observing.  _ Learning.  _

“Sit up.” Her words are gentle, but a command nonetheless. He complies, focuses on her a bit more. “What’s fourteen times eight?” 

Beat. Words forced out amidst spasms. “One hundred twelve.” 

“What was the name of the hospital ship we were on a couple months back?” 

That one takes him a moment, and from the steady expression on Yaz’s face, he guesses that’s the point. “Tsuranga.” 

A smile, an encouraging nod. “Who did we meet in Montgomery 1955?”

The pain and the memories feel further away now. “Rosa Parks.” A breathy chuckle, because he still can’t believe it. “And Martin Luther King.” 

Yaz squeezes his hand. The numbness has dissipated. 

“What stupid thing did the Doctor do last week that landed her in jail for two days?” 

An  _ Oi!  _ comes from a few paces behind Yaz, and Ryan genuinely, albeit weakly laughs. “Told that emperor made of algae that his shoes looked like they were dug out of a sewer.”

“I stand by that comment.” The Doctor butts in, index finger raised for emphasis, flashing him a smile. Playing along. Distracting him. It’s working. 

Yaz’s hand in his shifts it’s grip so she can press her fingertips to the inside of his wrist. “You’re not having a heart attack.” She restates the promise and goes back to squeezing his hand. “You’re alright.” 

For the first time in what feels like hours, Ryan manages to take a full, deep breath, and let it out just as steadily without complication. He digs the heel of his palm into his chest, willing his heart to slow, closing his eyes in relief when  _ finally,  _ it does. 

He hangs his head low, still panting a bit in the aftermath, but allows himself to relish in the freedom. Traumatic memories still try to pull at the back of his mind, but he has the strength to suppress them, so he does. 

“Ryan? You okay?” Graham advances again but keeps his hands to himself, respectful, wary. 

He nods shallowly and lifts his head to find Yaz watching him close for sign of relapse, eyes scanning him head toe. 

“Did that work when we were kids?” He asks quietly, voice still weakened. 

Yaz hums in affirmation and cocks her head to one side. “Don’t you remember?” 

“I remember the attacks, not how I got out of them though.” He muses, still rubbing feeling back into his palms. “Thank you, Yaz. Seriously. That was…”

“Did you see-” Graham interjects gently like he just can’t wait any longer. “It was your mum, yeah?” 

He nods, but his expression hardens, mind building a wall against that dark place. “I don’t want to talk about it.” 

“But if-” 

The Doctor elbows Graham’s arm and she shoots him a look that he almost physically shrinks away from. Ryan forces a smile that is quick to grow weary with the rest of him.

“Doctor,” He lulls his head back against the wall. “Just how important is it that we stay awake?” 

“Very.” Her expression softens at the sight of his droopy eyes. “I’m sorry, Ryan.” 

He nods, understanding, and sits forward so that he doesn’t accidentally nod off. 

* * *

Yaz watches with an admirable, amused, poorly concealed grin as Graham fusses uselessly over his grandson. Talking to him, prompting responses, punching him lightly in the shoulder when his tired eyes start to flutter and each time, Ryan loses a bit more control of his irritation. She laughs then, because Graham doesn’t stop. Good thing, too. Ryan’s never been one for attention, especially when the spotlight’s already shining down on him. He cringes, shifts uncomfortably, bats away Graham’s hand that reaches for his wrist. She turns away to give them a bit of privacy and allows the familiar bickering to fade into the background. 

The Doctor’s sulking again. Her version of sulking isn’t a wallow, Yaz knows. It’s that moment she rarely witnesses her reach, when defeat is on the brink. No plan up for grabs. Helplessness. The Doctor hates it, and judging by the sinking of her shoulders and the way she leans against the wall with what Yaz is pretty sure is sheer emotional weakness, it’s all she can think about. 

That, and a couple other things, probably. One of which Yaz is pretty keen to get some answers to herself. 

Instead of prompting her to turn around, Yaz steps into her field of view and assumes a similar position. She rests her shoulder against the wall, crosses her arms comfortably, and tilts her head to reach the woman’s eyes. 

It takes her a moment to lift her head and meet Yaz’s eyes. She’s never seen her look so worn. 

Straight to the chase. “What happened to you over there?” 

The Doctor doesn’t budge head to toe besides the slight narrowing of her eyes, deciphering. “What do you mean?” 

“You touched Ryan, and something happened. To  _ you.  _ What was that?” 

Her brow raises in understanding. “Oh, that? Side effect of being a touch telepath.” She wiggles her fingers like she does every time she uses the term. “Same happened with Graham, earlier. When I touched them, I felt whatever they felt. Or - what they thought they were feeling, rather.” 

That makes Yaz straighten, arms falling back to her sides. “Wait, so whenever you touch anyone, you feel what they’re feeling?” Her mouth hangs open. “That  _ might  _ have been necessary information earlier on.” 

Halfway through the last sentence the Doctor is shaking her head. “No, no, not always. I usually have control over it, and I don’t make a habit of doing it without permission.” She straightens as well, but not as much. A hand falls in her hair, pushing locks away from her eyes, movements lethargic and lazy. “Something to do with the Tru’kiel. They’ve heightened my senses.” 

Yaz can basically see the Doctor’s train of thought run off it’s track. Her demeanor is quick to slump, mind quick to go back to whatever chokehold it has her in. 

She gives her a moment to speak on her own, and unsurprisingly she doesn’t. Yaz treads softly. “You’re wondering why they haven’t attacked you yet, aren’t you?” 

From the way the Doctor stance goes from tense to even more tense, Yaz guesses she’s right. 

“Aren’t you?” She prompts again, a little more forcefully. 

The Doctor shifts so that her back is pressed against the wall, gaze drifting, searching for the answers, then landing on Yaz. Wide, worried, confused. “Why? What reason could they possibly have for dragging me here, leaving me be, and forcing me to watch my  _ family  _ suffer. It’s not fair, Yaz.” She digs the heels of her palms into her eyes, groans with all of her unrestrained frustration, and forces her hands back to her sides. Her expression is exasperated and untamed. “ _ Why? _ ” 

Yaz shakes her head, saddened beyond belief. “I-” 

“-They brought  _ me  _ here. You lot haven’t done anything wrong, you’ve never hurt anyone, you’ve not given them a single reason to target you.” 

Yaz stops her with a hand raised, palm outward, still. “Maybe they’re just cruel for the sake of… cruelty, because  _ you  _ haven’t done anything wrong either, Doctor.” 

There it is again, where the few lingering stars in the Doctor’s eyes disappear and darkness replaces all of that boundless childlike energy that they’ve grown so accustomed to. That look that makes her seem  _ impossibly  _ old. Full of secrets, except this time it’s more intense. A shiver goes down Yaz’s spine. 

The Doctor’s eyes shoot up, locking with hers, face contorting into something akin to guilt. She opens her mouth, fretful, like she’s about to spill out a confession. Or an apology. 

Graham’s footsteps interrupt. His jaw is slack, not sure if it’s the right moment to speak. Yaz peaks over his shoulder out of concern, worried that Ryan might make things loads more difficult by falling asleep, but she’s soothed to find him awake and alert, still sitting against the wall, flicking through something unseen on his phone. 

“Hate to butt in, Doc,” At their silence Graham takes the opportunity to step closer, one hand nervously scratching the back of his neck. “But can I ask you a question?” 

The Doctor must have some internal rage switch that she’s flipped off, because her composure is regained and the tense atmosphere is instantly easier to breathe in. She doesn’t quite reach happy, though, Yaz notices. The stars in her eyes are yet to reappear. “What can I do you for, Graham?” 

Yaz leaves them alone and decides to give Ryan some company, but as she sits at his side she keeps her eyes on the others. One, probably the only perk of such a small space: eavesdropping is a breeze. 

“Because Ryan won’t tell me. Still doesn’t want to talk about it, but I’m curious.” Graham pauses, searching for proper phrasing. “Was  _ all  _ of that just about his mum? He loved her to death, don’t get me wrong. But I can’t shake the feeling it’s more than that.” He sighs, shoulders dropping with it. “I just want to know how I can help him, even if he doesn’t want it now. If these -  _ Tru’kiel  _ lot are using our worst fears or whatever, I might as well take that opportunity to do some learning. For myself, and for-” He nods backwards, gesturing to where Ryan still sits fiddling with his phone. Either unaware, or choosing to be.

The Doctor hesitates, wary of butting in where she doesn’t belong, but Graham’s intentions are pure. She almost smiles at him. “When Ryan’s mum died, his dad left shortly after, yeah?” 

Graham nods patiently. 

She holds out two fingers. “Well, that’s two distressing childhood incidents for start, and on top of that, he went to live with Grace afterwards.” 

Graham nods again, then goes completely still. 

The Doctor winces. “Six years, later, Grace dies.” She lifts a third finger for emphasis then lowers her hand. “His mum dying was the first building block of-” She takes a shuddering inhale, visibly distressed, concerned, and maybe a bit  _ too  _ caring. “of a  _ very  _ traumatic growing-up. The Tru’kiel chose one thing to target, because they didn’t even need to target what came after. That was the start of it all for him.” 

Yaz watches Graham’s head drop almost all the way to his chest, weak with compassion. His voice is timid. “How do you know all that?”

The Doctor shrugs. “Had a hunch. Confirmed it when I touched him. All that feelin’ is too loud not to catch on to.”

“Right… I heard a bit of what you were telling Yaz about that. How does that work exactly?” 

Yaz loses interest in the conversation pretty shortly after that and finds herself staring at Ryan, processing everything she heard, heart very unfairly aching for everything he’s gone through. Times like this that she wishes he wasn’t such a closed off type of person, but then again; he’s probably had to deal with endless friends, family members, acquaintances demanding for him to talk about his feelings. He must be sick of it. 

She finds herself relaxing into her uncomfortable spot on the floor, respecting his wordless request for silence, and settles for watching his thumbs work at his phone screen amidst a mindless game of Angry Birds. 

They sit there for a while, the Doctor and Graham’s quiet chatter mere background noise to their thoughts, until Ryan, eyes still transfixed on the tiny bird flying across his screen, speaks up. 

“You really like her don’t you?” 

Yaz is so taken aback that she doesn’t have a clue what to say. She can neither confirm, nor deny, though the answer is clear. Must be if Ryan of all people noticed.  _ Oh god _ , has the Doctor noticed as well? 

Her brain fumbles for words and most of the right ones get lost on their way to her lips. Instead she slumps, defeated, arms crossed self consciously. “Who wouldn’t?” 

Ryan laughs at that, still not looking up. “What’s that like?” 

She really, _really_ wishes he didn’t ask that, because she’s spent the past however long trying to ignore just how _horrible_ it is. To look at the most fascinating woman in the world, the most clever, the most special, the only one of her kind, and know she’ll never look back. The last of a dying breed, species aside. Yaz knows that there’s no one else out there like her, no one even slightly comparable. A standard has been set, and there’s no going back. 

Her heart shatters. She’s completely infatuated, but she knows; she doesn’t  _ want  _ to know, but she knows: the universe doesn’t love people back. 

Yaz almost feels like crying. The cold, hard facts tug at her heartstrings, and she crosses her arms tighter. “It’s terrible.” She confesses. Quiet and conquered.

Ryan pockets his phone and looks at her for the first time. The compassion in his eyes is palpable through his temporary silence. “That must suck.” 

A hitch in her breath as the emotions start to lean in the direction of becoming physical. She presses a hand to her chest in a futile attempt to quell the increasing,  _ nagging  _ pain there, and only makes it worse. 

She’d scoff if she didn’t already feel too short of breath to bother.  _ This  _ is what they’re choosing to target? Is she really so fragile that mere preminiscent rejection is her greatest weakness?

Yaz looks away, Ryan’s caring eyes beading into the back of her skull as she looks at the Doctor, who literally, and emblematically looks everywhere but at her. “It really does.” 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> does anyone even still play angry birds?


	6. heartbreak

“Yaz. Yaz?” 

The Doctor’s eyes ease shut as Ryan’s voice grows fitful, laced with concern aimed in a very specific direction. She tried  _ so  _ hard - she did everything her limited resources allowed to free herself and her friends before too much damage could be done. Just a few more hours, she thinks. She’ll figure something out.  _ Not her too -  please not her.  _

But Ryan’s pleading in the form of his friend’s name hasn’t quieted or come to a stop. It grows more insistent, more demanding, and then he’s shouting for help. 

“Doctor, something’s wrong. She’s not answering.”

A steadying breath. Three seconds in, three seconds out. Six seconds of wasted time.

“Doc.” Graham still stands before her, shielding her view of what she knows is a heavy-hearted scene, now reaching out to shake her shoulders to get her attention. “Wakey wakey, now’s not the time for those standing catnaps. They’re after Yaz.” 

Something in her snaps and she physically jolts at his touch, has to shake her head for a moment just to jostle her brain into working order. She grips Graham’s upper arms, eases him to the side, and advances upon the sight of Ryan trying to sit Yaz up from where she slumps against his shoulder. 

Yaz’s breaths are short and alarmingly shallow. There’s a crease in her brow and a pained grimace tugging her features into a frown of clear agony. Her eyes are shut, and no matter how much Ryan shakes her, she doesn’t open them or say a word. 

“Yaz?” The Doctor hates how her voice cracks as she crouches in front of the two, reaching out to place hesitant hands over Yaz’s sleeve. “Come on, you’re gonna be okay. Open your eyes.” 

“I don’t think she can answer.” Graham places a hand on her cheek. 

Her focus homes in on the twitch around Yaz’s eyes, her lids fluttering then purposefully closing even tighter. She’s lucid - as lucid as she can be. 

“I think she can,” She eases herself onto one knee. “She just doesn’t want to.” 

“She’s cold.” Graham informs, retracting his hand and landing it on her shoulder. He gives it a squeeze, those kind granddad eyes watching her with distress. 

“Doctor, help her.” Ryan’s all but begging, slips an arm around Yaz’s shoulders to force her off of him and into an upright position that she just manages to hold on her own. 

“Yaz.” The Doctor squeezes her arm, watches the way Yaz’s hand spasms against her chest as she tries to curl in on herself. “Yaz, you have to talk to us. Don’t think I bought for a second that nonsense about heights. You climbed that crane back in Sheffield no problem. Remember that? You were brilliant.” Still no response, but she can see it on her face, in the tear that rolls down her cheek. There’s something she’s reluctant to share, visibly, _definitely_ afraid to acknowledge, and it’s affecting her too much for the Doctor to respect her privacy. “You need to tell me what’s hurting. I don’t know how to help you.” 

She’s getting worried. More worried than before. Yaz’s panting is unsettling, and when a groan she evidently tries to suppress slips through, the Doctor can’t sit and wait a moment longer. 

She rolls her sleeves up past her elbows, more out of habit to assist concentration than anything. She shifts, sits cross legged on the floor, and reaches for her hand. Graham shoots out his own to snag her wrist. 

“No.” His voice is hard. “Don’t do that to yourself.” 

Her fingers flex in his grip and she tugs in protest. “Graham, they might not let her go on their own. I have to know what she’s feeling.” 

“But-”

“Shut up, granddad.” Ryan forces their hands apart and gives Graham a cold, desperate look. “The Doctor can help her. We can’t just let her suffer!” 

Defeated, disgruntled, Graham stands down, wordless in protest of the Doctor putting herself in harm’s way but aware enough of the severity of Yaz’s state to allow events to unfold. 

The Doctor takes a deep breath. A  _ really  _ deep one. A brace for impact, self assurance, self preparation. Quickly, like ripping off a bandaid, she takes Yaz’s hand in hers and squeezes. Hard. 

* * *

 

Yaz has experienced heartbreak before. 

In year ten she was head over heels for Danny Biswas. A cutesty, clumsy, idiot of a boy, and they’d connected so closely. Spent every day together, most of it in secret. His parents never liked her for some reason, and she never knew why until the day Danny ended it. Ended them.  _ My parents just won’t back off,  _ he’d told her, and she wished he never told her why.  _ They don’t trust Muslims.  _

That hit her like a truck, left an imprint on her entire life, but she moved on. 

In the police academy, she fell in love with a woman for the first time. Gorgeous, charismatic, complete girlfriend material. One hundred percent Yaz’s type. They were together not too long, but long enough. Long enough to form an attachment, long enough for it to hurt like hell when they ended up stationed at separate precincts with hours of train travel in between them. There was no choice but to end things. The job came first. 

Those two major losses tripled doesn’t even scratch the surface of what she’s feeling now. 

Heartbreak is in your head, but there’s an undeniable physical pain that comes with it. Deep in her chest, in the pit of her stomach, weakening her knees and making her feel sick. That, but times infinity, is what she feels now. 

It’s agony. 

* * *

 

The Doctor releases her hand with a heavy gasp that sends her reeling backwards, palms braced against the floor, arms shaking as she tries to hold herself semi upright. 

Ryan and Graham each take an arm to hoist her forward onto her knees, but her whole body feels like jelly. Half limp, half aware of her surroundings, all she can do is stare at the tears creeping down her friend’s cheek. 

“Oh,  _ Yaz. _ ” Her eyes cloud with tears of her own. The realization has hit, but it’s still sinking in. How could she have been so bloody stupid? “Yaz -   _ Yaz I’m so sorry _ .” 

“What?” Ryan worriedly looks at Yaz like he’s expecting her to have taken a turn for the worse, but her state is unchanging. He frantically whips his head back towards the Doctor, eyes impossibly wide. “Doctor, what is it?” 

“ _ Yaz. _ ” It’s the only word she can form, her only thought.  _ This is all my fault.  _

She’s only vaguely aware of Graham and Ryan’s questions, not aware enough to understand them, let alone answer them. She creeps forward on trembling hands and knees, flops against the wall at Yaz’s other side that Ryan doesn’t occupy. He backs up, bewildered and audibly fretful, gives them some space. 

“ _ Yasmin Khan. _ ” Her arm worms between the wall and Yaz’s back, slips around her shoulders so she can pull the trembling body against her own. She breathes out every last bit of oxygen in her lungs and has a hard time replenishing it. Yaz’s head drops limply against her the Doctor’s shoulder and she cradles it, face pressed into Yaz’s hair. “You are completely, immeasurably  _ irreplaceable.  _ Do you hear me?”  _ I really need you to hear me.  _

Graham extends a hand at the sight of their hands touching, desperate not to see the Doctor allow herself to slip back into that dark, apparently heavily emotional place that Yaz is trapped in. Once again, Ryan reaches out to bat his hand away. 

“Stop.” His desperate gaze homes in on Graham’s. “It’s helping her, look.” 

Yaz’s shoulders have lost a fraction of their tension, the tears has ceased, but her face still twists in discomfort. 

The Doctor holds her tighter, trying to communicate, finding it almost impossible with the lump in her throat. “You are…  _ brilliant.  _ Never met anyone quite like you.” She considers adding, simply for the sake of recovery, something she isn’t sure can be considered as a lie or a confession. 

Feelings are odd, mostly because every time they creep up in the back of her mind or tug at her hearts in that painfully familiar way, she panics. Dismisses them. So many she’s loved, so many she’s  _ lost.  _ Every time it seems, those closest to her feel the heat of the fire the worst. She doesn’t want to put Yaz through that. She can’t put  _ herself  _ through that. 

But all Yaz seems to be able to feel is the ache of rejection, when in reality, rejection is nowhere in the picture. 

The Doctor never wants to lose her. All she knows how to do is protect, and sometimes she goes about it the wrong way. 

This is peak definition of it going the wrong way. 

Feelings are complicated. Feelings are  _ scary.  _

She interlocks their fingers, conjoined hands maintaining the connection that she selfishly longs to break. It hurts so,  _ so  _ much. The Tru’kiel are merciless, but incredibly clever. 

They chose the Doctor as Yaz’s worst fear. They chose her as Yaz’s greatest weakness. 

“Heartbreak.” She provides finally, vaguely, knowing how horrible for the boys it must be to watch such a scene so helplessly. She tightens her arms around her friend and closes her eyes, breathing through the circumstance. 

Yaz’s feelings have caused her more pain than she ever should have to experience. It’s only fair that the Doctor accepts the burden alongside her. 

* * *

Yaz doesn’t want to open her eyes. The mental ambush has faded into a dull ache in the back of her mind, and as she curls into the warm body pressed against her side - it ebbs completely. 

Almost completely. 

She feels like crying, but she’s been humiliated enough. She feels like she did when Sonya read out her diary during her fifteenth birthday party as some type of sick joke. Everyone had laughed, everyone had mocked her for weeks. 

The Doctor knows now, and there’s no coming back from that. 

Still, surprisingly, she’s not mortified enough to pull away. She finds solace in the Doctor’s arms -  finds solace in the fact that even after her involuntary revelation, the Doctor still holds her tight. She hasn’t scared her off, she hasn’t accidentally sacrificed the most amazing thing that’s ever happened to her. And for that, she’s eternally grateful. 

It takes one more deep breath for Yaz to notice that she’s still shaking, but the source of the tremble isn’t coming from herself. 

A burst of energy. Her eyes shoot open and she recoils out of the Doctor’s hold like she’s been burned. She watches her gasp a deep breath of freedom, slump in the direction Yaz previously occupied, and barely manage to catch herself on one hand before she can crash into the floor. 

“Why did you let her do that?!” Yaz shouts, ignoring the way the small space makes the sound bounce and land loudly back in her ears. She looks back and forth wildly between Ryan and Graham, unsure who the culprit is. They’re both stunned to the spot. “She feels whatever we feel when she touches us!  _ Why did you let her do that?! _ ” 

“Yaz, Yaz.” Graham has both hands extended in her direction, making a  _ calm down  _ motion, but he can’t pull his gaze away from the Doctor. “I don’t think this is from you.” 

Yaz stares at him, aghast and breathless, and turns back around to find the Doctor still crumbled and hardly holding herself up on hands and knees, hyperventilating, shaking like a leaf with her wide eyes fixed on nothing. 

Ryan takes small, pointless step forward, desperate to help, no clue how to go about it. He’s overwhelmed, having no time to wind down in between one distressful attack and the next. “I think… I think it’s her turn.” 

Free of mental abuse, free of forcibly enhanced emotion, Yaz can hardly hold back a sob that’s entirely her own. She drops to her knees and lays a hand on the Doctor’s back, dipping her head to find her eyes. 

Graham holds his breath, only letting it out when his lungs absolutely demand it. His face goes slack and quietly, respectfully, anxiously, he asks an important question. “What d’you reckon  _ her  _ worst fear is?” 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woohoo! pain!!
> 
> thanks for reading, i'll be posting the next chapter on wednesday :) please please let me know your thoughts!!! reviews fuel me


	7. my fam

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm at starbucks finishing up the last chapter now. we're getting there!
> 
> this chapter was one of my favorites to write. i LOVE their family dynamic and i really hope we get to see some true vulnerability and team bonding in s12

The room seems smaller. The air feels thinner. Voices are calling her name from far, far away. Different tones, different pitches, but all the same tunneled shouts of  _ ‘Doctor!’  _ that feel both distant and way too close. She can feel their anxious breaths on the back of her neck, their hands on her shoulders. She wants to flee her skin.

Regret, guilt, and a sloppy mix of sorrow and rage all begin to feed off of each other and form a chaotic disarray in her head that the Doctor can feel all the way to her fingertips. Her arms feel like pudding and stop holding her weight, but a hand snagging the fabric of her coat gives her enough time to catch herself on her elbows. 

_ I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.  _

They’re still calling her name and she wishes they would just  _ stop.  _ The Doctor; a vow, a perspective, a way of life. She chose it because she believed in that vow, but it’s times like this that she feels like she’s just been lying to herself.

Then again, times usually aren’t like this. She can feel it, she’s hyper-aware of all of it. Every nanosecond another section of her brain is tampered with. A feeling is enhanced, regret is forced to the surface, hope is squashed, fear is poured in until it overflows. She raises a hand to press it desperately into the side of her head.  _ Stop.  _

She tries to fight it, but they’re  _ still  _ calling her name. Frightened voices, gentle caring hands, and she knows that if she could lift her head all three pairs of eyes would be absolutely shining. 

Ryan manages to scratch the surface of her attention. “Doctor, can you hear me?” 

Her eyes shut.  _ Doctor.  _ What a name. 

She’s failed her best friends so, so miserably.

_ The Doctor.  _ The title is no more than a broken promise. 

She can’t breathe. 

“Doc, we’re gonna sit you up, alright?” 

The six hands that were stabilizing her now have a hold on her coat and use it to haul her upright. The sudden movement heightens every sense, intensifies every ache, and her hand flies to her chest to hold her hearts in place. 

Gritting her teeth, breathing shallowly, the Doctor lets them prop her up against the wall and drops her head backwards. 

“Open your eyes.” The worry in Yaz’s tone makes the air feel colder. 

Someone snaps their fingers frustratingly close to her face. “Come on, you made all of us do it. Open ‘em.” Ryan. 

She protests by squeezing them shut harder. She doesn’t have the strength to see any of their faces. 

“We’re here for you, yeah? We’re in this together.” Graham’s so kind. Too kind for his own good. 

The small fingers that curl around her arm in an attempt of a comforting grip can only be Yaz’s. The Doctor takes a hitching breath in and tries to breathe it out a little steadier, tries to follow that tiny glimmer of safety, of  _ home -   _ because that’s what her friends are. 

Yaz’s hand slips and makes contact with the Doctor’s skin. 

All that worry, all that fear, all that  _ love.  _ She sinks, face twisted in agony, and bites her tongue through a groan that she tries to keep from turning into a scream. 

“Stop.” Eyes still tightly shut, she gasps when Yaz’s yanks her hand back and most of what’s left of her little remaining energy slips away. She slumps sideways but Ryan catches her, hands considerately avoiding her skin. “ _ Too loud. _ ” 

* * *

No one knows what to do besides hold onto her. 

It’s a horrible sight that elicits a sickening feeling of helplessness. They can see in the way the Doctor holds herself that this is much more than what the Tru’kiel did to the rest of them, or maybe it’s just harder to watch anything lose it’s light than the universe itself. 

“Guys, what do we do?” Yaz is crouched at the Doctor’s left side, sandwiching her between herself and Ryan while Graham sits in front and holds loosely to the Doctor’s sleeve. 

No one knows what to do, but they need her to know that she’s not alone. 

“I-” Graham chokes on his first word and closes his mouth in better judgement. The Doctor’s breathing is erratic, body tensed and stiff but restless with discomfort. She clenches her jaw shut but pained grunts escape between her teeth every few seconds, and it’s a chilling sound. 

Ryan shakes her shoulder tenderly. “We’re here for you.” He’s not a hugger, but he is now that it’s not an option. 

Despite their concern, despite their desperation, no one is brave enough to ask her to tell them what she’s feeling. 

They probably couldn’t take the heartbreak of knowing what  _ she  _ is most afraid of, and from the looks of it speaking it aloud might only make her worse.

But from the way their hold on her seems to increase her distress while also causing her to relax a fraction beneath it, they have a pretty good guess. 

Yaz swipes at her cheek to get rid of the tears, and out of pure affection almost reaches out to do the same to the Doctor. She pulls back, heart sinking. She just wants to hold her hand. 

They sit there for a couple minutes, each second condensed and lengthy and dragging on  _ and on and on.  _ Her state doesn’t change. She’s still stuck. 

“Doctor.” Yaz whispers, gentle and unsure, pushing through the fact that the Doctor flinches at the single word. “We’re here. We’re with you always, whatever happens. You’re not alone.” The Doctor’s breath catches and Yaz presses her forehead into her friend’s shoulder, desperate to be heard. “Whatever you’re thinking, whatever you’re probably blaming yourself for right now, listen -  none of this is your fault. We’re all gonna be okay. We’re all here.  _ We’re all okay. _ ” 

“Doc, you’re the strongest person I’ve ever met.” Graham states the fact boldly, unwavering, and he’s known some  _ very  _ strong individuals. Grace in particular always struck him, always standing up to things he’d duck away from. It’s one of the most admirable traits in any being he’s come across. “If anyone can fight through this, it’s you. You’re gonna be alright.” 

Her panting turns to jagged breaths. A small improvement. 

“You gave us the universe.” Ryan speaks with confident ease. “You gave us…  _ you _ . And we’ll never be able to thank you enough.” 

“We love you.” Yaz exhales heavily against the Doctor’s coat and listens to her breaths begin to steady. “We’re with you.” 

* * *

She wants to hold their hands. She wants to hug all three of them at the same time and  _ never  _ let go. She wants to protect them. 

And she’ll do everything she can to until her dying breath. 

The Doctor’s sudden tiny burst of motivation is slow going. She leans into it, tries to hold onto it, tries not to let it go. 

She’ll do everything she can, every time. 

She has to get them out of here. 

It takes a while to spread the decision to the rest of her thoughts, and slowly the crippling fear ebbs away. It takes a bit longer to reach her body and she leaves that alone for now, settling on squinting her eyes open. 

“Good morning.” Graham’s is the first face she sees, and as if his greeting is a cue both Ryan and Yaz swim into her field of view from either side. Eyes as wide as their smiles. Thrilled. Encouraging. Relieved. 

_ My fam.  _

Her voice is croaky when she takes it for a spin so she clears her throat, suppresses a cough, cracks a smile. “Hey gang.” 

“You’re a sight for sore eyes.” Ryan’s eyes are shining, just as she expected. Sure, part of it is from tears that he’ll be humiliated by if she points them out, but just like the others, his eyes shine in a special way. 

Yaz is quiet, but not dangerously. She seems more wordless from shock, but a happy sort of shock. Those are the better kinds. 

“Think it’s over?” Graham questions, hesitant, like he might put her at further risk by acknowledging it aloud. “Are you alright now?” 

The Doctor sniffs deeply, coughs a couple times on the breath out, and winces as she tries to shift herself up higher against the wall. “Think so.” She dares to move her pounding head enough to survey all three of them the best she can from her position. “You lot okay?” 

Ryan and Graham laugh, and Yaz looks like she wants to give her a the head. 

“You’re joking right? We’re-” Yaz doesn’t finish her sentence, and as quickly as a switched being flipped from off to on, her whole expression drops.

The Doctor narrows her eyes, wanting to believe that it’s just the Tru’kiel altering her perception. She feels a shadow casting over sections of her thoughts, threatening them, reminding her she’s not truly free, but it’s weak enough to be temporarily dismissable. 

But as she glances at Graham and Ryan to find similar features crawling with distress, she realizes her perception definitely is not being altered.

Deja vu, times three. 

Graham moves backwards, suddenly short of breath and digging his fingers against his knees. Ryan has slumped forwards with his head on his chest, hand clutching his left arm, inhales purposefully deep and exhales too quick. 

She whips her gaze back to the left. Yaz has her head slightly tilted back and pressed against the wall, her expression hidden behind both hands, knuckles whitening as she digs her fingers into her scalp. Quiet, trembling, she mumbles against her sleeves. “Please, not again.”

The Doctor frantically looks back and forth between them and rises to her knees, purposeless hands slightly extended. “No, no,  _ no! _ ” She can get them out. She can figure something out, but it just won’t  _ stop.  _

She feels the shadow spreading, darkening her mind and digging cold fear into her hearts. 

Her hand shoots forward to grip Graham’s shoulder and she drops her head to find his eyes screwed shut. “Graham, can you hear me?” No response. She whirls to the right to grab Ryan’s forearm, trying to draw his hand away from his skin before his fingers leave a bruise. “Ryan, c’mon mate.” To the left and she finds Yaz dropping sideways, barely managing to catch her in time and narrowly missing her hand with her own. “Yaz,” She chokes, eyes watering,  _ pleading.  _ “Yaz, I’m so sorry.” 

And then the Doctor feels the darkness consume her as well. She all but screams, limbs losing all function and dropping her mercilessly to the cold floor, her lost grip on Yaz landing her at her side immediately after. 

She clutches her chest and claws at the floor, trying to scramble to her knees because she has to help them. She has to do  _ something.  _

But this feels different. This feels worse. The tendrils wrapping around her soul keep getting tighter, keep branching out, and keep pulling her deeper too quickly for her to see the surface. 

Yaz, Ryan and Graham. She can feel them all. 

Nothing has ever hurt this much. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was a really cruel cliffhanger so i MIGHT be posting the next chapter today or tomorrow instead of friday
> 
> review review review review!!!


	8. worry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i caved. and i’ll probably post the next chapter tomorrow, we’ll see what’s up

At this point Ryan just wants to know why.

The fist in his chest is back, squeezing and punching and hammering away at every memory of everyone he’s lost. The difference this time is that instead of a static feeling he just has to bear through for a bit, it only gets worse.

Was the Doctor wrong? Are the Tru’kiel actually out to kill all four of them?

He hopes not, but this sure does feel like what he imagined dying would be like.

Ryan feels himself drooping closer to the floor and sticks an arm out to stop the decline. Drifting in and out of his confined thoughts are the sounds of groans, cries, and the occasional shout. He doesn’t know which is coming from himself.

It takes a _lot_ of mental willpower, a lot of looking past the images of his mum, his dad, his nan. He’ll push past one, only to find the next waiting for it’s turn to strike. It takes a lot of effort, but he finally manages to lift his head.

Graham is the first person he sees, and that’s enough. He’s a few feet away, laying on his back, muscles tensed and hands balled into fists pressed against his eyes. Ryan inches one hand in his direction, fingers lazily clawing for something to grip onto.

* * *

 

Graham drops his hands from his eyes to clutch at his arms, digs his fingers into his sleeves, tries to get some feeling back into them. He’s too frightened to open his eyes, convinced that if he sees his friends in a state even slightly similar to his own, it might break his heart _too much._

But he opens them anyways, because he hears what sounds like a choked back cry coming from Ryan. Something he can’t ignore, something that snags a thread of his consciousness and prompts him to follow.

He finds him half upright, head bowed and one hand clutching his chest, the other bracing him upright against the floor and crawling outwards into Graham’s direction.

His hand is just close enough for Graham to shakily, weakly grasp it in his own.

The action sends Ryan off balance and he sinks onto his side, panting and drawing his knees to his chest. Graham curls his fingers around his wrist and dips into his limited supply of strength to give Ryan’s arm a tug.

“Ryan.” He can hardly hear himself, but the word is just loud enough for Ryan to crack his eyes open and stare at him in a panicked stillness. “It’s gonna be alright, son.” Each word steals more energy. “Hold on.”

Ryan grits his teeth and forces himself to maintain eye contact no matter how much he wants to curl up and try to sleep this away. He responds to Graham’s hold, squeezing his hand, pulling slightly and summoning all his strength to continue when Graham reciprocates.

It’s slow going, it’s immeasurably painful, but they help each other rise into a stiff sitting position and grip each others shoulders, trying not to fall back down, and shift backwards so they can lean against the sturdiness of the wall.

Graham drops his head back and has to close his eyes again, breathing through the grief in the form of crippling aches, and squeezes Ryan’s shoulder to remind him he’s not alone. He really, _really_ doesn’t want to, but he risks a glance at the other end of the room.

Yaz is curled on her side, frozen and shaking, face hidden by her arms that form a cradle around her head.

The Doctor is face down, arms tucked between her chest and the floor, legs shifting in an attempt to leverage herself to her knees. He watches despairingly as she makes a little progress and then collapses back down, quick and heavy, and makes a sound that he never would have expected to come from her.

She’s crying, and it’s the worst sound Graham has ever heard.

Her breathing is way too fast and showing no signs of easing. The hands against her chest inch to her upper arms and she squeezes, scratching at her sleeves, and makes a additional sound of frustration.

_Pins and needles._

He closes his eyes. He can’t watch.

Seconds tick on, and the cage around their minds start to close in tighter. A simultaneous groan, a mutual gasp for air as the shadows squeeze tighter, and the hardly bearable agony intensifies into something completely unmanageable.

Graham forces his eyes open to find Ryan barely hanging on, his hunching and gasping and borderline crying summing up the way Graham feels himself.

It’s too much.

Graham releases Ryan’s shoulder and forcefully joins their hands. They both bow in on themselves a little further, stricken and on the verge of mental collapse, but they squeeze each other’s hands to will one another into fighting through.

Breaths ragged, grip on one another deathly tight, Ryan and Graham close their eyes and accept a fraction of each other’s burdens.

 

* * *

 

Yaz doesn’t think she can take it much longer.

It’s so much worse than it was before. Intense, channeled, focused, leaving not even the tiniest crack for her to breathe through. The agony swallows her, and she’s frozen, helpless to it’s cruelty.

She wants to open her eyes, but she can’t. She can’t move, speak, or do anything but let it consume her. Every second it gets worse. Every second, she gets closer and closer to wishing for it to just release her into _nothing_. Death is less scary than this.

Submerged in darkness, the sounds of her friends struggling alongside her breach the surface of her attention. The sound gets louder, closer, and then it’s deafening -  all she can hear, all she can acknowledge.

 _Let them go._ Yaz has a sickening feeling that if these _Tru’kiel_ bastards can get in her head, they can hear her as well. Silently, she pleads, because thinking is the only action she’s capable of. _Just let them go._

Nothing happens, nothing changes. _Just make it stop._

Suddenly, the sound of the Doctor’s distress is the only thing she can hear. Yaz can feel her friend’s pain in her bones, and her cries cut through every other darkening thought, grow into a deafening volume. She’d cover her ears if she could move.

But somewhere in the chaos she finds the strength to open her eyes, and almost wishes she hadn't.

The Doctor is holding her breath, face down on the floor and pushing her fingers into her hair. Shuddering, but rigid. Still, apart from the twitch of her hands as she claws at her scalp. She looks like she’s trying to dig her way out of her own body.

Every corner of Yaz’s every independent thought feels cold with dread.

She chances a glance at the boys and finds them barely conscious, barely hanging on, hands joined and showing no signs of letting go.

Apprehension crawls and builds and punches and pulls at her thoughts. Her heart plummets, and Yaz lets her head drop against the floor. _I don’t think we’re making it out of this one._

She closes her eyes and tries to accept their fate, but it’s hard to make peace with a situation that’s eating you from the inside out. The darkness spreads, anything that could vaguely be considered light gets further and further away.

And then, like a mass kill switch was flipped, everything stops.

Yaz doesn’t dare move, but the fact that movement is once again in her solid control sends an almost crippling wave of relief coursing head to toe. Her eyes stay closed, too frightened to open them, and instead she listens to the rustling of clothing against bodies and hands against surfaces as Ryan and Graham try to pull themselves the rest of the way out of hell.

Graham’s voice fills the almost soundless space. “Ryan, Ryan. You alright?”

An analytic pause. “Think so. You?”

“Think so. Yaz, are you-”

Graham’s question cuts itself short and Yaz hardly notices. She groans lightly, takes a deep breath to channel the beginnings of her returning energy into her limbs. Come on legs, do your job.

She sticks the effort of sitting up on the _problems for later_ pile and settles for rolling onto her side to face the boys. The relief she feels isn’t matched on their faces.

Their wide, frightened eyes fix somewhere past her, and with a jolt of worry driven motivation she jerks her head around to find the Doctor. Still trapped in her own head, writhing on the floor, intervals of twisting and convulsing and going deadly still before it repeats all over again. Her shoulders heave like she’s trying to quell the sounds of a cry, and the whimpers that slip through gritted teeth regardless are a punch to Yaz’s gut.

“No.” She _hates_ how little energy she has, how long it takes her to elbow herself upright and slump her weight in the Doctor’s direction so she can put a hand on her back. “No, no, no, they let us go, why won’t they let her go?!”

It’s almost too hard to watch. The Doctor’s squirming and heaving lands her on her shoulder, her untamed expression of sheer agony only half shielded by her hair. She’s unresponsive to Yaz’s prods and prompts apart from the shadow of a flinch that has her curling up even tighter.

Yaz can hear Graham and Ryan helping each other to their feet from behind her and soon after they’re crouching at her side, heads bowed and bodies tense on their own accord this time.

The gasps and exclamations coming from the Doctor’s form are sickening.

It’s like watching the sun go out.

“You don’t think-” Yaz can’t even force the words out. She feels a different sort of numb this time.

Ryan sinks onto his heels to save his dwindling energy, fills in the blanks, and nearly chokes on his words. “Are they trying to kill her?”

Yaz feels nauseous, one hand still on the Doctor’s back in a fruitless attempt to steady her. She refuses to believe it, doesn’t even dignify the worry with a response.

Graham is only just now catching his breath from his own invasion, his words still containing a slight pause in between to remind him that they’re not out of the woods yet. “Look at her left hand.”

Yaz follows his command and drops her gaze down to find the Doctor’s fingers digging into her upper arm, pressing and curling like she’s trying to regain feeling in them.

“That’s something I did when I…” Unable to acknowledge it aloud, he hopes they fill in the gaps. “And the -   _crying._ And the breathing, I think that she’s-” His thoughts are still scattered and not falling into proper order. Mindlessly, just to prove his theory, he pries the Doctor’s other hand away from her chest to press his fingers against her wrist.

She screams a sound so horrific it’s likely to haunt their dreams for the rest of their lives.

* * *

 

Her chest burns, her skin aches, her hearts _hurt_ , and it all takes the form of a pain deeper than any physicality could scratch the surface of.

Grief is a constant in the Doctor’s life. Grief is a curse she’s never quite managed to outrun, but she’ll never stop trying.

Grief is the one thing she’s not strong enough to cope with on her own.

Her own grief alone is hardly tolerable. Her own grief, coupled with the sorrow and torment of her best friends is unbearable.

 _Please._ Can her demons hear her? _I can’t take it anymore._

The Tru’kiel are incredibly clever. She loathes them for it.

_So much for our lives not being in danger._

She already can’t breathe. She already feels herself becoming helpless to something along the lines of telepathically induced cardiac arrest.

She already feels like she’s dying.

Fingers touch her wrist, and the blackness of the world erupts into white hot flashes of sorrow. Mourning. Fear.

Paroxysms of despair.

_Grief._

_Worry._

Whoever touched her is _worrying too loud._

It’s unendurable, but she has no control. Dizzy beyond belief, on the verge of the release of unconsciousness, but it never comes. She’s overflowing with adrenaline.

It’s intolerable, and she’s forced to tolerate it.

The skin to skin contact breaks - one glimmer of mercy in the sea of torture, and she gasps so heavily she feels her body arch up off the ground. The burst of energy, purely fueled by relief is short lived.

She can’t take it anymore. Regeneration sounds like a blessing.

* * *

 

“Graham, no!”

Yaz curls her fingers into his sleeve to yank his hand away from the Doctor, but Graham is already reeling back and drawing his hands close to his body, horrified.

“Oh, Doc, I’m so sorry.” His hands push their way into his hair and he sinks back, weak with a feeling that can’t decide if it wants to take form of terror or relief. _At least she’s stopped screaming._  

“Is she alright?” Ryan pushes his way to the front of the group to drop down and listens to the Doctor’s breathing, erratic and shaky.

Yaz tries to get a view of her face. “Of course she’s not alright!”

Graham takes a deep breath and runs a hand down the length of his face. “Her hearts are going nuts. That, the pins and needles, and the-” a sorrowful glance Yaz’s way, his eyes doing all the explaining needed. “I think she’s feeling everything we felt. All at once.”

Ryan’s eyes glisten with new tears.

Yaz’s face hardens, her jaw clenches against a tempting shout of frustration, and she curls her fingers until a section of the Doctor’s coat is fisted in her grip. “ _That’s not fair._ ”

“Plus,” Graham’s hands are slick and shaky as he twists them together. “Only heaven knows what else she’s been through that’s being used against her.”

_That’s not fair._

The three of them sit in thick silence as they watch their friend try and fight through the war on her mind. All that strength and sunshine that usually fills her with such charismatic brightness leaves no trace it was ever even there.

Yaz dreads to wonder if she’ll ever see it again.

The Doctor’s whole body freezes, strained, her weight held up ever so slightly by her elbows, then she collapses face down with a heavy exhale. Everyone holds their breath while they weight for her to draw another in. She doesn’t.

Yaz is wordless, Graham is struck still, and only Ryan manages a hopeless whisper. “ _No._ ”

Frozen, they watch and wait. _No._

And then, the Doctor gasps so loudly, her upper body jolts upright so quickly that everyone flinches.

Heaving for air, relishing in freedom, almost in tears from the sense of control, she collapses back against the wall and holds an experimental hand against her chest as her hearts start to slow. Her breathing continues to steady. They let her go.

The heaviest portion of the tension flees the scene and Yaz nearly collapses, Ryan and Graham lean forward to brace their palms on the floor, heads bowed.

“Doctor, Doctor are you alright?” Yaz almost reaches for her and as if the movement was pre-anticipated, she flinches.

The Doctor opens her mouth to speak, hands drawn protectively close to her chest, and looks ready to apologize. She takes a moment to rest her forehead on her knee, still trying to recover. “I’m okay. I’m okay, just, please-” Her eyes drift shut, voice crackling. “Don’t touch me. I can’t go through that again.”

Everyone respectfully backs up a bit, eyes never leaving her as she searches for strength. Regret fills Graham’s whole expression, and Ryan puts a hand on his shoulder.

“It’s okay.” The Doctor breaths, dropping her head against the wall. “It’s over.”

“Is it?” Yaz’s voice is steadier than it’s been in a while, but fear still grips coldly at her soul.

Almost broken, but not quite, the Doctor swallows heavily before she speaks. “I _really_ hope so.”

Ryan and Graham take a minute to compose themselves before they grip each other’s shoulders and brace themselves to stand. Yaz can’t draw her tired gaze away from the Doctor.

A tap on her shoulder shakes her from her thoughts and she looks up to see Ryan’s hand extended. She takes a moment to decide whether she even wants to bother with the task of moving, but her legs are screaming to be worked. She takes his hand and lets him pull her to her feet, unsteady for a moment, and only lets go once she stabilizes.

Graham extends a nervous hand towards the Doctor, unsure how to help her up without touching her skin, but she shakes her head.

“Need a mo.” She’s still a bit breathless, still undoubtedly shaken to the core. “I’m alright.”

The rest of them pace around, shake out their arms, legs and heads in attempt to expel the negative energy that’s absolutely suffocating.

Yaz stumbles. She feels exhausted.

The Doctor’s breath catches and she groans something completely separate from before. As her palms dig against her temples she simply sounds frustrated. Fed up. “Guys, sit down.”

Yaz watches Graham ease himself to the floor, eyelids fluttering, and she realizes what’s happening.

She fights it, sick and tired of being tampered with, longing for complete self control.

“Ryan.” The Doctor’s half lidded eyes watch Yaz falter and fight against the pull of unconsciousness. “Catch.”

Hand to his head, Ryan follows her gaze and shoots his arms out just in time to catch Yaz around the waist as her knees buckle.

Graham is already out like a light, eyes closed, looking as close as possible to peaceful. Ryan’s legs shake as he lowers himself and Yaz to the ground. By the time they get there, they’re already slipping under.

The Doctor lets herself fall to one side and pillows an arm beneath her head, no desire to fight or protest against the call of sleep.

She knows this is the Tru’kiel and she shivers at the thought of their potential intentions, but as everyone drifts off it’s the best form of relief imaginable.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> REREADING THIS HURTS SO MUCH SO LEMME KNOW WHAT YOU THOUGHT


	9. broken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok i lied, THIS is my favorite chapter. definitely the most fun to write and i'm really happy with how it turned out :)

There’s a tug on the Doctor’s subconscious warning her to open her eyes that takes the form of a dull ache behind her temple. She winces against it, eyes shut in protest, an  _ I don’t wanna go to school  _ moan as she shifts her body lethargically against the floor. The tug grows insistent and evolves into a direct yank on her attention. 

_ Wake up.  _

And she does, pitching forward and landing on her hands and knees. A few gasps for air, gaze trained on nothing specific, hands curling into fists at the realization. 

“Wake up. They’re coming.” 

Lazy, reluctant shifts and grunts as her companions follow her voice into consciousness. A few more seconds before they reach semi awareness. 

The Doctor shouts this time, captivating their attention before they can disregard the effort of registering where they are and fall back asleep. “Guys, the Tru’kiel are coming.” 

The name in particular prompts everyone to snap their eyes open, roll over and start to scramble into an upright position. Past events visibly knit themselves together in their brains right before the Doctor’s eyes, and three pairs of questioning eyes home in on her. 

The ache in the side of her head grows stronger as her persecutors near, but it’s considerably the most tolerable thing she’s had to deal with in a while. “I don’t know why, but they’re coming.” A reminder of their merciless attacks take form of a lingering weakness to the Doctor’s limbs, the isolated pain whenever her thoughts even threaten to drift to a shadowed place. A wound she’s anxious to tend to, and a dread that her friends are similarly scarred. She puts her weight on one arm to lower herself from her knees to a slouched seated position, and her voice hardens. “It’s about time.” 

“ _ What? _ ” Ryan pushes himself to his feet to stand over everyone else. “Why do you sound pleased about that?!” 

The Doctor lowers her head and pays little attention to her peripheral where Yaz and Graham unsteadily start standing up. “Because whatever their reason is, it’s  _ not  _ to attack us again. They can do that from plenty far away.”

Yaz swipes a hand over both of her eyes. “Well why  _ are  _ they coming, then?” The thought of having to face in person the source of such cruelty makes her visibly recoil. 

“Dunno,” She still doesn’t look up at them. “But they’ve got some explaining to do.” 

The Doctor squints her left eye a bit as the ache builds and she almost grins, saves it for later to spare Yaz, Ryan and Graham some discomfort. 

She can feel it. The particular level of rage bubbling deep in her chest, clouding her thoughts. The rage she’s yet to experience in this regeneration, because she’d decided against it. She’s done a decent enough job so far of keeping her composure, staying relatively calm. Best to keep a level head, she doesn’t always make the best decisions when she’s  _ properly  _ angry. 

She hears three exclamations of shock and abruptly lifts her head. And there they are. 

Two Tru’kiel poise themselves with high arching confidence, towering, despite being roughly the same height as the others. 

Ryan and Graham are the first to backpedal until their shoulder blades hit the wall behind them, while Yaz takes slow steps away from the aliens as if sudden movement might frighten them into violence. All three of them assume a different vague stance of self preservation, tensed, bracing to flee, even more tensed because there’s nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. 

Silence hangs in the air, save the four sets of slow and quiet breaths. The Tru’kiel are entirely soundless. 

The Doctor’s never seen one in person before, and she’s unimpressed. They stand perhaps a few inches taller than the humans, bodies a stereotypical shape, distinguishable by their wide heads that remind her of a hammerhead shark. 

What sickens her are the rags they wear. Hanging loosely in some areas and clinging tightly to others, veil hanging off their heads, identical to the image that’s haunted her since she saw it as a little boy.

The same rags, the same veil as the old woman who died. 

The same general embodiment the Time Lords used to scare her into confession.

“You did that on purpose.” She states plainly, audibly emotionless. “Thanks for leaving out the flies, though. That was just disgustin’. Too much flare.” 

Yaz, Ryan and Graham glance her way, surprised by her sudden emotional stability, then continue to stare at the two Tru’kiel warily. The silence makes everyone uneasy. 

The Doctor is momentarily captivated by the way her friends shrink further away, pressing themselves into the wall at their backs as close as possible. There’s rational fear in their hearts, but save the fraction that shows through their eyes their frowns express nothing but anger. 

She’s proud of their strength, and absolutely  _ pissed  _ at the beings that tried to strip that away. 

She looks at the Tru’kiel again, forced grin of bland disappointment slipping into something hardened with sheer resentment. 

_ You hurt them.  _

“Well?” She hates the way they tower above her, a purposeful attempt at intimidation, and longs to stand up and face the both of them toe to toe. The Doctor rises from her seated position and flops back down, gritting her teeth against the frustration. “Anything to say for yourselves?” Out of the corner of her eye she sees Yaz shift from heel to heel, and a glance her way reveals her visible desire to help. The Doctor shakes her head, catches her eye and holds the contact. An authoritative frown, a crease in her brow.  _ I’ve got this.  _

The Tru’kiel put the suspense to rest and ‘speak’ for the first time. Their words are clear as day, but without mouths to form words they push their thoughts into the Doctor, Yaz, Ryan and Graham’s heads. The ache increases enough that she bites her lip against it, and the others hold a similar uncomfortable grimace. 

_ “Your sentence has been served.”  _ It’s indistinguishable which of them the statement comes from.  _ “You are free to go.” _

The Doctor lets out a breath at the slight relief their psychic silence provides, lets out another more sharply completed with a cold chuckle at their revelation. She tries to haul herself to her feet again, fails again. “My  _ what? _ ”

Yaz, Ryan and Graham once again look at her for answers, eyes questioning then faltering, faces twisting again when the Tru’kiel repeat themselves. 

_ “Your sentence has been served. You are-”  _

“-Yes, yes I heard you the first time.” She shows no sign of the discomfort of the link apart from a slight tilt of her head. “Need some elaboration here. Details,  _ please.  _ If you’re gonna be an arse, if you’re going to tamper with and hurt me  _ and my friends,  _ you need to say a lot more than that.” 

There’s a short stretch of nothing but anticipation before they speak again, entirely monotone and bland like they’re reading off a file.  _ “The Doctor is a level ten criminal by law of the Tru’kiel, wanted in fifteen galaxies for mass genocide. Guilty of the murder of-”  _

“That’s enough, I get the jist.” Brief. Every muscle in her face tight, fists clenched at her sides. Her heels dig into the ground, and her current physical weakness is one of the very few things keeping her from launching herself  _ right at them.  _ She takes a deep, steadying breath to hold herself together. “Okay.” Another one, because she can  _ feel  _ three confused, surprised eyes staring at her. Their uneasiness pointed in her direction is terrifying, but she continues. “I can understand  _ that.  _ Pretty clever punishment, I’ll give you that. Plain old pain is superficial, brains have a lot more to play with. But why-” Her breathing speeds up. “Why  _ them? _ They’ve done absolutely nothing.” 

_ “Incorrect.”  _

Yaz, Ryan and Graham alike all startle under the single word, wincing at the wonder of what  _ they  _ could have done that was so bad. 

The Doctor drops her head a bit, dumbfounded. “Excuse me?” 

_ “Throughout time, the Doctor has traveled with at least one partner in crime.”  _

Breathless with anger. “ _ Excuse me? _ ” 

_ “Yasmin Khan, Ryan Sinclair and Graham O'brien have served their sentence as accomplices to the Doctor of War.” _

The wording gives her unsettling chills, her fingertips dig into her palms, knuckles white. A storm builds behind her eyes. “The Tru’kiel are telepathic.” She pauses, unbelieving. “You can see our memories. So you  _ know  _ that they’ve taken absolutely no action that could be considered a  war crime _. _ ” Cold realization makes her stop breathing for a second. “You’re telling me, that you put each of them,” Her index finger jabs forcefully in the direction of her wide eyed friends. “through absolute  _ hell....  _ just because they  _ travel with me? _ ” 

_ “Correct.”  _

She feels sick, purposefully tunes out the sound of the others whispering amongst each other. 

The Doctor presses her palms into the floor, cursing her arms for shaking against her weight. She wants to stand up so badly, but she makes up for it. 

Thunder in her eyes. A tremor in her shoulders entirely of her own doing, head lifted menacingly to stare as  _ seriously  _ as she can manage to wherever the blank faces of the Tru’kiel might hold their eyes. 

Terse, steady. “Unacceptable.” 

Three heads whip back in her direction, and the Tru’kiel hold their stance. 

“You think…” She has to pause. “How can you think that you can just abduct human beings without a drop of blood on their hands,” There’s a joke there about stigmatizing aliens by earth standards, but she saves it. “and trap them, and  _ torture them? _ ”

Unwavering, one or both of them speak.  _ “The capabilities of the Tru’kiel are-” _

“No, no, no.” It’s debilitatingly dismissive. “I get how you can come up without that sort of thing, you’re  _ obviously  _ idiots, a complete waste of space in space. But even idiots have a sense of self preservation.” She swallows, face twisted and tone strikingly bitter. “But how did you think you could do something like that, and expect no one to  _ stand in your way? _ ” 

There’s also a joke there about the fact that she isn’t in fact, standing. She saves that for another time as well. 

But even from the Doctor’s spot on the floor, head tilted back so that she’s not just staring at the thin rags dangling at the base of the Tru’kiel’s body, she towers over her foes. 

“Because, and hear me out because this is going to feel  _ really  _ good to say.” She joins her hands and uses them both to point at the Tru’kiel. “Because you don’t try to kill people, you try to  _ break people.  _ Are you even capable of killing?”

Even without expression, they radiate self-righteousness.  _ “The Tru’kiel stand against assassination. It is an act of mercy.” _

“ _ Mercy?  _ Mate, I’ll take regeneration over that,” She points her thumb over her shoulder in a lethargic, clear gesture. “Any day.” She pushes her thoughts back on track, her own fears suppressed. “My point is… here’s the thing.” A deep breath, a pained but mischievous smile. “I want you to look at Graham over there.” The Tru’kiel twist on command, and she makes pointed eye contact with Graham as he jolts, shocked by the spotlight. “You used his cancer, which is rude enough I might add, to attack his grief for his wife.” 

Tight lipped, the hurt look on Graham’s face quickly gives way to indignance as he looks harshly, strongly at the Tru’kiel. 

“And Ryan.” The Doctor looks at him, but he’s still watching the Tru’kiel intently. “You used major traumatic events from his timestream to make one big trauma  _ soup _ , from his mum, all the way up to his nan.” 

Ryan stiffens at the memory, jaw working against his anger for his attackers. 

“And Yaz.” She drops her head back against the wall with a thud, still weak with the revelation. “You just had to take something that already  _ sucks  _ on it’s own, heartbreak, and not only ramp it up to eleven, but twist and turn and manipulate it into  _ rejection? _ ” 

Yaz yanks her focus away from the Tru’kiel to stare at her, silent and beseeching, a hint of  _ hopeful  _ slipping through. 

“You did all of that, and look at them.” The Doctor breathes out the closest thing to a laugh as her anger allows, begins the process of a more successful attempt to stand. As she speaks, eyes darting back and forth between each of her friends as they grab each other’s hands, the pride in her voice is unrestrained. “Do they look  _ broken  _ to you?” 

She doesn’t deserve the way the three of them look at her. Fondness, touched by her words, eager to prove her right by straightening and standing taller than she’s ever seen them before. It’s not a facade. They’re strong. 

“This might work with some people, otherwise you lot wouldn’t still be at it.” By the time the Tru’kiel twist back around to face her head on, she’s standing. One hand resting against the wall, just to be safe, but standing. Toe to toe, shoulders back. “But not my friends.” 

They don’t back down, but neither does she.

“Do you think I travel with just anyone?” She tilts her head, genuinely wondering. “Not everyone is cut out for the life I live. No, I don’t just pick at  _ random.  _ I let people travel with me because out of seven billion, is someone like them.” Eyes unwavering, she points deliberately and Yaz, Ryan and Graham. “They’re strong, stronger than you thought they’d be. Because do you want to know why I let  _ anyone  _ travel with me?” 

Her fists curl tighter at her sides, and in the corner of her eye are her friends, stunned, suspended by her question. 

The Doctor presses her lips together tight and takes a deep breath. “Because the universe is beautiful. Not just as a sight, but as a  _ concept.  _ Seeing more than your tiny corner of the world broadens your perspective.” She unculs her fingers and spreads her arms wide to emphasize. “It makes you see a different side to life. To  _ living.  _ My friends,” Again, she points, arms still akimbo. “Are  _ stronger  _ because of it. They’ve grown, saved people, done brilliant things for themselves and others all on their own.” 

The declaration hangs in the air, and the Trukiel move back an inch. 

“So, you take already strong people,” Once more, she points, then lets her hands fall. “who  _ because  _ of their travels are even stronger, and think that you can just tear their minds apart? No.” She shakes her head forcefully. “Not you, not  _ anyone.  _ Never Yasmin Khan, Ryan Sinclair, and Graham O’brien.  _ Never them. _ ” 

A pause for effect. She loves effect. 

“Now look at me.” She steps closer. “Do  _ I  _ look broken to you?”

She feels them surveying her, analyzing, perhaps, and revels in their lack of response. 

Satisfied. “I’ve chosen to believe  _ that  _ is what it means to be a Doctor of War.” 

Silence, processing, words pushed into their heads again like a broken record. 

_ “Your sentence has been served. You are free to go.”  _

The Doctor laughs, frustrated,  _ offended,  _ and turns around to take a couple steps away before twirling back around, face scrunched, hands moving to match her words. “Right, fine. But I’m dying to know, how did you get us here? Wasn’t a transmat, wasn’t a teleport, and there’s no entrance or exit. It’s just a big-” She shakes her hands, looking for the right term. “Thing! How did you do it?” 

_ “We did not remove you from your original location.”  _

Four voices in unison, confused tones identical. “ _ What? _ ” 

Both Tru’kiel bow their heads simultaneously, and the shapeless, colorless walls, ceiling and floor all disintegrate out of existence. 

Graham’s jaw drops. “You’re joking.” 

They stand in the TARDIS console room, unbelieving gazes wandering, heavy with instant relief. 

“No way.” Yaz breaths out, exasperated.

“Wait,” Ryan scoffs, “we’ve been in the TARDIS the whole time?” 

“Still callin’ this low budget, Doc?”

“Huh.” Her shoulders drop a bit, the initial feeling of safety almost entirely giving way to defeat. She sighs, disappointed in herself, fairly frustrated. “Shimmer.”

The Doctor’s head snaps up in the direction that now sinkingly lacks the two Tru’kiel. “Oh, no you don’t.” She lunges for the console and everyone instinctively braces for the jostling that follows lift off, but she simply places one hand on the edge for balance and presses the other against her head. “The link is still open.” She informs, half to herself. 

“Doctor, just leave it!” Graham puts his hands on his head. “We’re safe, they’re done with us, just leave it.” 

She digs her palm against her temple and shuts her eyes, concentrating. “No. This isn’t over.” 

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> only 2 chapters to go! things will start wrapping up soon. thanks for sticking with me this far, let me know what you thought !!


	10. we’re not afraid of you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> surprise?? i was really eager to post this one, and i finally finished writing chapter 11 so why not. i’ll be posting the final chapter tomorrow, thank you all for staying with me!

Yaz wants so,  _ so  _ badly to just sit down, revel in the return of familiarity, have a cuppa then shower seven times. Nap for two weeks. They’re  _ home.  _ Everything should be okay now. 

But the Doctor hasn’t changed her mind, hasn’t stepped down from her statement, and makes no move to break the telepathic connection that she appears to be increasing voluntarily. 

“Doctor.” She’s so tired, they’re all  _ so tired,  _ and Yaz has half an inclination to make a break for the custard cream dispenser. She has no clue how long they were trapped, but her body screaming for food and water provides some sort of estimate. 

Her simple plea isn’t reciprocated. Yaz swaps a glance with Ryan and Graham and finds them visibly, similarly uneasy. 

Graham takes a single step towards the console. “What’re you gonna do, Doc?” His tone is level. 

The Doctor doesn’t respond, which does nothing to ease the unsettling prickle on the back of Yaz’s neck. She’s suddenly alert, curious, mildly concerned. 

A gasp cuts the silence wide open as the Doctor’s hand against her head spasms. She buckles, staggers for balance, then her head snaps up to reveal cold, angry determination. “Haha, gotcha!” 

Yaz hears Ryan and Graham’s low grunt, feels the same throb in her temple as the Tru’kiel’s vesselless, chilling voice fills their heads. 

_ “You are free to go.”  _ The same plain statement.

The Doctor laughs easily. “Sure, we are, but you’re not. Not until I say.” Her eyes are focused, static to the same general area like she’s either imagining the Tru’kiel standing before her, or actually seeing them. “You forgot to hang up the phone, mate! Now  _ I’m  _ in control of the link, and you’re going to answer a few questions.” 

Stillness, no reply, but Yaz can feel their lingering presence. 

“Question one:” The Doctor relaxes her shoulders and straightens. “What authority dore the Tru’kiel act on?” 

_ “We are our own authority.”  _   
  


“Thought so.” She scrunches her nose. “I can respect the concept, but not the execution of it. Question two: Which species do the Tru’kiel have jurisdiction over in accordance to intergalactic law?” 

The first sign of hesitance.  _ “We are our own authority.”  _

Yaz watches the Doctor rise to her fullest capacity against the unseen adversary, fists clunched agains her legs. 

“You see,” She waggles a finger. “It doesn’t work like that. If you want to make your own rules, that’s fine. I do it all the time, don’t I, gang?” She whirls in their direction and after a pause under her light scrutiny, they all nod. 

“It’s true.” Ryan provides, vaguely aiming his words the same direction the Doctor did. “Drives us crazy.” 

“So.” She clasps her hands together and turns back. “ _ You  _ can make those rules,  _ you  _ can follow them, but you have zero jurisdiction to expand those rules beyond yourselves.” 

_ “Such hypocrisy, Doctor.”  _

It’s the most personal -   _ sentient  _ thing they’ve said so far, and Yaz crosses her arms against the chill that comes with the tension in the air. 

The Doctor shifts her jaw, takes a deep breath. “We are  _ not  _ the same. Everything I have done has been what I believed was best. What I believed was  _ right. _ ” Yaz can all but hear the Tru’kiel in the Doctor’s voice and watches her change her approach, visibly sickened. “I… have made mistakes.” She swallows. “I have faced more consequences for more mistakes than you could ever  _ imagine,  _ no matter how all-seeing you are.” 

Yaz feels that shiver down her spine again, somewhat from the darkness to the Doctor’s voice, mostly from the hurt poorly hidden behind it. 

“And you know what? I told you why I let others travel with me, but I never told you why I travel myself. I have lived… for a very,  _ very long time. _ Over two thousand years old, I am. Been traveling for ninety-nine point nine percent of that, and I’m still here. I keep going. You wanna know why?”

Graham whispers over his shoulder, “She’s  _ how old? _ ” 

The Doctor takes a strong step towards the empty space. Without looking, she points proudly at her friends. “Same as them. I travel because it makes me stronger. Because the universe never stops, it keeps going and going and there is  _ so much to see. _ ” Fondness, admiration, and unfiltered love bleed through her voice. “The learning doesn’t stop at two thousand, or five thousand, or a million. Everything I see, I learn a little more, I grow a little more.” She sighs, stating everything very matter-of-fact. “I’ll make more mistakes, but so will everyone. I’ve chosen to learn from them. Now,” 

Yaz can’t help but smile, despite everything threatening to tug it back down.  _ The explanation stance,  _ or something related to it. More authoritative, captivating. If the Tru’kiel can see it, Yaz knows they won’t be looking away. 

“You have made a mistake here. Simple.” The Doctor lowers her clasped hands and spreads them wide for a moment, drops them back to her sides with a thud. “Question three: will you learn from your mistakes, or repeat them?” 

Yaz, Ryan and Graham all freeze in anticipation. Wary of both sides of the coin. 

_ “We are our own authority.”  _

The Doctor sticks her hands in her coat pockets and leans forward a bit, eyes narrowed, strengthening the link. Strengthening her severity. The same chilling, plain tone. “ _ Unacceptable _ .” 

The Tru’kiel say nothing. Yaz takes a step closer to Ryan and Graham.

Ryan drops his head close to her ear. “Do you think she’s gonna-”

“Shh.” Yaz elbows him lightly in the side. He and Graham radiate caution in their slightly rapid breathing and stiff stances. They won’t interfere, they won’t speak out of line, they’ll allow events to unfold as the Doctor choses. 

But all three of them watch her intently, unsure of her stratagem, unsure of  _ her.  _ Revelations have been made -  revelations that she didn’t try to deny, or justify. 

They’re worried, but they don’t move. 

They trust her, but they wonder. 

The Doctor’s been around for a long time -  is a few months enough time to know who she is? 

Yaz is uncertain, but she doesn’t move. 

Even with that building intensity behind the Doctor’s eyes, one that reminds Yaz of a wide sweeping thunderstorm, her faith weighs out her uneasiness just enough to stay in place. 

The Doctor turns heel to pace circles around the console, fingers of one hand drumming against the edge as she does. Head tilted, question drawn from genuine curiosity. “Are you familiar with the Shadow Proclamation?” 

A beat.  _ “We uphold Article 15.” _

“What,  _ ‘Murder is not a rule of war’ _ ?” She recites easily, jaw hanging in disbelief. “Sparing lives isn’t an automatic gateway to righteousness. You allowing someone to keep their life does  _ not  _ make any other sick action justifiable. What you did to us, what you did to  _ them, _ ” Her head hangs low, shoulders shaking with sheer rage. “Is unacceptable.  _ Murder is not a rule of war  _ isn’t the only law of the universe, especially when your approach is worlds more frightening than death.” 

Yaz’s chest tightens at that, because she’s not wrong. Having her emotions tampered with, heightened to  _ that  _ sickening, horrible level, was undoubtedly the worst thing she’s ever experienced. If she were faced with a choice to either repeat those events, or end her life -  she’s not sure she’d be strong enough to act out of self preservation. 

And the Doctor felt it all. The Doctor had to endure not only her own mental anguish, but the anguish of the rest of them. All at once.

And still, she stands tall. A bit frazzled, a bit wounded, but tall. 

“You don’t get to project your own rules on the rest of the universe if your rules are utterly  _ wrong. _ ” The Doctor lays both hands deliberately over the controls. “And if you can’t grasp that, you can’t be allowed to continue.” 

Yaz can feel Ryan and Graham looking at her, their silent wonder of what comes next boring coldly into the back of her head, but Yaz stays still and watches the scene unfold. 

“If you’re familiar with the Shadow Proclamation, surely you know how much firepower they have. Literally, and not. The Judoon are just plain annoying. They’ll irritate you into surrender before you know it. But, just in case-” She punches at different buttons. “Just in case you’re  _ really  _ stubborn, I’m taking a precaution.” 

She slams down a small lever. “I should mention, I’ve always got the head honcho on speed dial. I prefer not having to speak to her face to face -  she’s always trying to get me to lead a war. No means no, Miss  _ Shadow Architect! _ ” She tilts her head back to shout in an indistinguishable direction then drops her eyes back to the empty space. “I  _ also  _ should mention that I’ve just transferred the link to their headquarters. Now they’re in control. Not me, not you. It’s out of my hands, dude.” The Doctor exaggerates a shrug and lifts the console microphone until it’s almost touching her lips. “ _ Go get em, boys.”  _

With the link still active, Yaz hears a sickening trill that she registers as the Tru’kiel’s frightened protest. 

_ “We are our own authority.”  _

The Doctor snickers and shoves her hands deep in her pockets. “I know a few rhinoceros blokes that will be very happy to disagree with you in three-” Three fingers held up, ticking down. “Two, one.” 

Yaz tilts her suddenly pounding head into her hand as disembodied shrieking and psychic waves of conflict fill her senses. A deep growl of a voice,  _ “Ho - jo - ko - lo -”  _ repetitive, rhyming, all single syllables. 

The Doctor drops her hand on another button, and the commotion quiets. The link breaks. 

“Eavesdropping is rude.” She half smirks, braces both hands against the console and leans backwards into it, facing the others. “The boys will handle things, now. No more arrogant telepaths traipsing about.” 

A pause of mutual silence. Processing, registering, understanding. 

Ryan cuts through with a narrow chuckle. “Except you.” 

The Doctor points at him then, broad, tired smile lightening her whole face. “Smart boy.”

She’s too cheery. Overcompensating. 

“So, Doc.” Graham scratches the back of his neck and nods to the console. “What was all that then?”  

“Turned them over to the Shadow Proclamation: basically an intergalactic police force.” She puts her back to the others again, unseen hands gliding over the controls. “The Tru’kiel broke about a dozen and a half laws. They’ll be given a fair trial and subsequently held responsible. I stand with the Shadow Proclamation for the most part, so I trust them to make the right call. They usually keep their heads on straight. Except for Harold.” She half turns back, index finger punctuating her words. “A migrant multiform investigator that would do a  _ full one-eighty  _ with his head to freak people out during interrogation.” 

Too cheery. Shoulders stiff. 

Ryan gawks. “Wait, so you rang the feds? We never do that!”

Facing away, the Doctor shrugs. “Sometimes it’s the best option.” 

Yaz feels involuntarily weightless relief, hears two sighs from her left expressing identical ease. 

The Doctor can feel it, shoulders dropping, head bowed, hands stilled. “What?” She huffs, whole body sagging with it and she whips around to face them. She looks  _ too  _ exhausted. Movements weaker, face slightly pale, and a tired, almost imperceptible rasp to her speech. “Did you think I was going to  _ kill  _ them?” 

Yaz doesn’t know what to say and hopes one of the boys will pick up the slack. 

They don’t. 

* * *

 

The Doctor deflates. Regret grips at her hearts and for a moment, sorrow and fear are once again the only feelings in reach. She already knows the answer.

“Figured you would.” She shakes her head and turns back to the console, stares blankly at the crystal it surrounds as she yanks a lever down and transports them to a safer section of the universe. She doubles the strength of the TARDIS shields, dials up every scanner and notifier, and makes a mental note to always keep neural blockers in her pocket. 

She leans forward,  _ knows  _ they’re still looking at her, and she wishes they all could just forget this ever happened. 

  
The Doctor can’t look them in the eye. 

“You lot head to the kitchen.” She clears her throat, straightens a bit. “Reckon it’s been a little over a day without food or water; go make up for it. The TARDIS will make you whatever you want. If you’re feeling too peaky, let me know. I’ve got something for that.” 

She listens for the sound of footsteps, but no one moves. They’re all breathing  _ very  _ quietly. 

She’s scared to ask, and hopes she’s assuming incorrectly. “Do you want to go back home?” 

Their feet shift then, and someone moves closer. 

“No way.” Yaz sounds appalled at the thought. 

“Not me.” Ryan’s very matter of fact. 

“Doctor-” Graham’s voice is slower, and for a moment the Doctor goes rigid. “No. We’re with you.” 

Her pulse quickens, and she lifts her head, still unable to turn around. Undeserving. “You heard what they said about me.” 

“Felt it in my bones, more like.” Graham chuckles, and the Doctor’s lips quirk upward. “But, Doc, you basically said yourself -  that doesn’t matter anymore.” 

She tilts her head, listening. 

Yaz nears the console a step more. “You’re two thousand years old, yeah?” 

She hums in affirmation, unmoving. 

Ryan huffs. “That’s an awful long time to go without screwing up.” 

“Especially when you spend most of the time trying to hold the whole world together with your own two hands.” Graham adds. “Doc, we’ve seen who you are. The past doesn’t define the now.” 

“We know you.” Yaz breathes out. “We know the you that cares worlds more about the people around you than anything else. You’re selfless.”

_ Not always.  _

“We trust you.” Ryan confidently states. 

_ Should you?  _

“Doc, turn around.” Graham’s borderline parental tone doesn’t allow her to stay still, and she slowly twists around, self consciously crossing her arms. “We’re not afraid of you.” 

The Doctor looks between the three of them, feeling oddly safe under their kind gazes, but cold worry still makes her fingers twitch. “Thing is, I can’t promise that I’ll always get it right.” Her hands against her arms hold a subtle tremble. “I don’t always make the right calls. Even after all this time, I don’t always do the right thing. I don’t always know what the  _ right thing  _ even is. Half the time I’m making it up as I go along.” 

“But it’s like you said, isn’t it?” Yaz takes a few more steps until she’s standing directly in front of her, Ryan and Graham close at her heels. “You learn. You grow. You make mistakes, and you  _ learn. _ Two thousand years and you haven’t stopped trying to learn. You think we want to abandon that?” 

The Doctor’s hearts warm. Speechless. 

“We’ve got a lot to learn from you.” Graham says. He and Ryan step up to Yaz’s left and right. 

Ryan gives her a kind smile. “You’re still the coolest person ever.” 

She musters up an emotional, lazy version of a smile, eyes clouding. 

“You’re a good person, Doctor.” Graham drops his hand on her shoulder. “Don’t let the nasty psychic aliens tell you otherwise.” 

The smile grows, and she still can’t think of a thing to say. 

Yaz extends a hand towards hers, then retracts it, bites her lip and twists it nervously. “Can we still not-” 

Words are useless when you’re emotional anyways, the Doctor decides, and snatches her hand. Her other goes to the back of Yaz’s neck and she pulls her friend’s head to her chest. 

One arm curls around Yaz’s back, tight, protective, apologetic and warmer than ever. She releases her hand to wind her fingers into Ryan’s jacket and yank him closer, quirks her brow to warn Graham against trying to escape the hug. He doesn’t. 

She makes sure she has some sort of hold on all three of them, and lets all three of them hold her. A close, blissfully tight embrace, making up for lost time. She feels sad, like she missed them. Happy on top of it, because they’re still here. 

The Doctor swallows against the lump in her throat and drops her head to Yaz’s shoulder, face hidden by the fabric of her coat. Words tight, choked back, overflowing with affection. She doesn’t deserve them, and they deserve better than her, but they’re still here _. _ “Thank you.” 

Their arms wrap around one another tighter and easy breathing completes the hums of the console room. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the next chapter is full of family feels and much needed conversations


	11. hate is always foolish

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we made it!! here’s the final chapter. thank you all again SO much for sticking with me and seeing this through til the end. i worked probably too hard on it, but now i can actually go back to genuine adult responsibilities.

Yaz takes a deep breath of home. Sandwiched between her three best friends, she’s never felt safer. 

She’s reluctant to loosen her grip when she feels the Doctor unwind her arms and Graham and Ryan take a step back. She’s colder, almost vacant without the closeness, but the Doctor’s kind smile and bright, mildly teary eyes warm Yaz right up. 

Her stomach drops and her heart stumbles over a couple beats as specific events recollect and reform in her memory, and she remembers. 

Yaz finds definite solace in the fact that the Doctor’s awareness of her feelings hasn’t pushed her away, but there’s a lingering feeling there that’s entirely independent. No aliens messing with her head this time, she’s just concerned. Concerned that the Doctor’s view of her has been altered, because two thousand years old or not, finding out someone fancies you that you don’t fancy back is -  uncomfortable. 

“Right.” The Doctor drops to a crouch to fish through a compartment under the console, then rises with three small yellow tablets that she displays in an open palm. “One each. Can’t remember if these taste like citrus or motor oil, so I suggest swallowing it whole to save you the nausea.” 

“What’s this for?” Graham asks, but no one hesitates before popping the tablet into their mouths. 

“Basically a five star meal and half a gallon of water squeezed into a tiny little convenient edible.” The Doctor beams. “Instant hydration,  _ and  _ enough nutrition to make up for lost time. Still recommend a sandwich or two though,” She winces at Ryan’s disgusted smacking. “Might help with the taste.” 

Yaz almost gags. “Motor oil.” She swallows with an audible gulp, shaking her head vigorously as if it’ll dispel the remnants in her mouth. “Definitely motor oil.” 

“Yeah, sorry.” The Doctor grimaces. 

Graham squints as he swallows. “Right, then. Kitchen?” He takes a step in the direction of the east corridor, head cocked for the others to follow. 

Yaz feels the Doctor’s eyes on her before she sees them. 

“You and Ryan go ahead.” The Doctor doesn’t break her gaze. “Yaz and I will catch up.” 

Yaz takes a deep breath and shoots Ryan a helpless glance, but he merely gives her a thumbs up, an encouraging nod and follows Graham down the corridor. 

She feels smaller than usual, embarrassment lingering and leaving her terrified for what the Doctor plans to say. The elephant in the room has to be addressed eventually, she supposes, but that doesn’t make her any more keen.

The brief silence leaves everything to her imagination, so she ends it. “Doctor, listen -  I don’t want things to be weird, okay? I don’t want you thinking I’m so…” She cringes. “ _ Infatuated  _ that I’ll be some overbearing inconvenience that’s always runnin’ at your heels and begging for recognition or whatever.” The Doctor opens her mouth to cut in, but Yaz’s spill is quick. Slightly rehearsed. “Listen, I just want you to know that I get it. You’ve been around… a  _ while,  _ apparently.” She laughs nervously. “I don’t want you to be uncomfortable, or, I dunno -  weirded out. I just want things to be back the way they were before…” 

“Before I knew?” The Doctor looks like she’s trying to hold back an amused smile, but doesn’t quite manage. A smirk, more like.  _ Very full of yourself, you are. _

“Yeah.” Yaz’s sigh is heavy, exasperated and frantic. “Can we just pretend like it never happened?” 

The Doctor’s countenance is entirely unreadable as she leans her back against the console, crosses her arms like she’s getting comfortable. She nods her head to the side, signalling Yaz to join her, who’s heart almost stops at the gesture, but she complies

“We could,” She decides, sniffs once and stares into the depths of the console room in contemplation. “But I’d rather talk.” 

Yaz simply nods, starting to feel like her airway is collapsing in on itself, and she swallows against it. She shoves her hands in her pockets and bows her head slightly to listen. 

“I’ve been in love before.” The Doctor starts. “Quite a few times if I’m being honest.” 

Yaz would’ve thought such a revelation would make her jealous, but she’s strangely relieved. 

“Love hurts. Love is a  _ battle.  _ One that I haven’t quite figured out how to win.”

Hesitant, but curious. “What do you mean?” 

The Doctor takes a stalling breath like she’s second guessing the conversation, but wills herself on. “I told you three when you came on board that my life is risky. My life is very, very dangerous. And very often, the people close to me get hurt.” 

It’s no surprise to Yaz. They all knew what they were getting into, but the sudden downtrodden frown on the Doctor’s face leaves her distressing history unfathomable. 

“The people  _ closest  _ to me,” She says that word with a specific pained lilt and a sharp breath out. “Seem to get hurt the most. I have lost so,  _ so  _ many people, Yaz.” She closes her eyes, head bowing amidst the memories. “It never gets easier, and it never gets safer. So I sort of… detach myself in a way. I don’t allow myself to feel what I normally would, because-” Her confession is reluctant. “I’m terrified.” 

Yaz feels the sudden urge to assure her that’ll never happen with the three of them. That they’ve got the universe on their side, an alien on their team. She wants to promise her that they’re infallible, but if the past day proved anything, it’s that that’s far from true.

“I don’t know if that’s the right thing to do, though.” She admits. “I really, honestly, have  _ no  _ idea what I’m doing.” She sweeps her arms wide, a gesture to everything. “Like I said, I’m still learning.” 

Understanding and sympathy form an emotional concoction in Yaz’s head and her eyes begin to well up. “Doctor, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.” 

Halfway through her apology the Doctor is shaking her head. “I just don’t want to lose you, Yaz.” Her arms fall back to her sides. “The Tru’kiel used your feelings as a weapon against you. They twisted and enhanced it until it was crushing you, and do you know what that proved?” 

“That I’ve got a horrible, hopeless crush?” Yaz winces, almost regrets her phrasing, but the Doctor is shaking her head again. 

“No, Yaz. It proved that love is  _ powerful. _ ” She looks at her then, finally, a mixture between distress, confusion and affection on her features. “One of the most powerful emotions in the universe, if not the most. And that, Yaz,” She holds up her index finger, pointing at thin air. “Is the lesson I learned today, and one that I won’t forget.” 

Yaz takes her hands out of her pockets, weightless with relief, comforted by understanding. She snorts and tilts her head in a purposefully cutesy manor, and smiles. “So basically, you don’t hate me?” 

The Doctor presses her lips together into a shy smile that dissolves into a laugh. “Yasmin Khan, a scary handsome genius from space once told me something that I’ll remember for the rest of my life. You know what it is?”

Yaz simply quirks her brow in question, tired of her insistent enigmatic behavior. 

She pauses, probably for effect, and her smile grows. “Hate is always foolish. Love is always wise.” 

* * *

 

Four plates at the kitchen table, four cups of tea, two chairs occupied as Graham scarfs down his cheese and pickle sarnie and Ryan nibbles at his ham and cheese. 

“Poor Yaz.” Graham mumbles over a mouthful, hand rising quickly to catch a crumb that drops from his lips. “Love is rough.” 

Ryan leans back in his chair and stares at the sandwich in his hand. “I think they’ll be alright.” 

“What, you think the Doctor loves her back?” 

Ryan bubbles into the most genuine laugh he’s had in awhile. “You’re jokin’ right? Have you seen the way they look at each other?”

“Not really.”

“Not joking, then, just blind.” 

“Oi! I’m not up to speed on all those hints and long stares you kids give each other.” 

“You callin’ the Doctor a kid?” 

“Without hesitation.” 

Ryan chuckles again and takes another bite while Graham tilts his head, sighing lightly and wishing he could hear whatever the Doctor and Yaz are on about. “You really think they’ll be okay?” 

Even from the other end of the timeless, boundless ship, the joyful and distinguishable laughter of their friends rings loud and clear and slices through the suspicion like a knife. Ryan grins. “Defo.”

Graham brushes the crumbs from his half eaten sandwich off his palms and leans back in his chair, hands in his lap, gaze unsure where to land. 

Ryan side-eyes him and mutters over a mouthful. “Out with it, then.”

Graham takes a slow breath and leans forward again, restless. Elbows on the table now, eyes respectfully avoiding his grandson’s. “Ryan, are you okay?” 

He’s unphased, not bothering to break in between bites or look up from his plate. “Yes.” 

“Are you sure? Because back there-”

“Graham,” Ryan drops his meal and gives him a pointed look. “Are  _ you  _ okay?” 

Graham’s taken aback, blinking rapidly to stall for response. “Yes, I mean, well you know-” 

“Yeah, I do.” Ryan settles more comfortably in his seat. “We’ve both been through the ringer, and we both probably need a bit more time before we can say with certainty that we’re  _ a-okay,  _ don’t you think?” His words are sharp but his tone remains flat and mellow. 

Graham bows his head sadly, a fraction of a nod, then lifts it again to clarify. “Wait, are you talking about Grace or all of-” he waves his hand. “This nonsense from today.” 

Ryan licks his lips and sags in his chair, fills the silence he provides with a pointedly loud bite of his sandwich and averts his gaze. 

Graham’s heart aches and his lips sink into a sympathetic frown. He looks at his hands for a moment, wary as ever to push boundaries, and he chooses to believe his sudden burst of emotional strength is drawn out of the recent lessons he’s learned. “Well just to put it out there, I’ve got good listenin’ ears. If you ever need to talk about-” Ryan laughs dismissively and Graham raises his voice a bit over it. “ _ If  _ you ever need to talk about it,” he emphasizes. “I’m here for you, son. At least I, in some way shape or form, know what it feels like.” 

Ryan’s the type to suppress, to bottle things up, and take on his own struggles with a head held high and a determination to accomplish obstacles solo. Graham both longs for that specific type of strength and  _ hates it.  _ No one should have to face their demons alone. 

When Ryan smiles, almost reluctantly, Graham’s heart soars. 

_ “I’m going to look out for you, son.”  _

_ “I’m not a kid.”  _

_ “Oh, okay. Well, I was hoping you'd say, ‘I'm going to look out for you too’.”  _

Ryan makes eye contact with him for the briefest of seconds, walls lowered, expression kind. “Same to you, yeah? I’ll listen if you ever need to talk about it.”

Graham smiles warmly, eyes clouding, pats Ryan’s shoulder and goes back to his sandwich. 

How far they’ve come.

 

* * *

 

  
  


Ryan’s skin crawls with the natural awkwardness that comes from affection and is eternally grateful when two sets of footsteps provide a welcomed distraction. 

He looks up when the Doctor and Yaz walk into the kitchen, the tail end of their laughter fading along with the tense state he left them in. Their demeanor is light, smiles happy and unpracticed. Comfortable and aligned. He grins, relieved to see them at ease, and shoots Yaz a smug wink that earns him an annoyed glare. 

“Everything alright, then?” Graham leans forward to tap the edge of the plate across from him. “Made you a PB and J, Yaz, since you’ve got the food pallet of your average six year old.”

“Thanks, Graham.” Yaz moves to stand behind the chair at her place setting and takes a huge, eager bite without bothering to sit. 

“Oi,” The Doctor puts her hands on her hips and looks down at the empty plate at her seat. “What about me?” 

“Didn’t know what kind you liked. Or if you even like sandwiches.” Ryan explains, wiping his hands on his jacket. He watches her face contort into a nervous wince, almost embarrassed, and he sighs. “You want PB and J too, don’t you?” 

She presses her lips together into a tight, polite smile that doesn’t hide her eagerness as much as she probably intends. 

“Six year old.” Graham nods to the Doctor with a chuckle as Ryan pushes himself from the kitchen table and grabs the half remaining loaf of thirty-six century bread from the cupboard. 

“What’s got you two so happy looking, then?” He teases with his back to the women, turning around to playfully toss the sandwich into the Doctor’s hands and finding her and Yaz looking suddenly nervous and evasive. 

“Oh, nothing.” The Doctor replaces her potential answer with a mouthful. 

“Just,” Yaz presses the back of her hand against her mouth to keep bits of bread from falling out. “Stuff.” 

“Stuff?” Ryan’s eyes glimmer. 

“Stuff.” Yaz gives him a hard, attempted no nonsense look and Ryan raises his hands in surrender. They’ll come clean in their own time. 

“Come on, you two, take a load off.” Graham pats the table. “Dunno how long we were trapped in your own console room, Doc, but judging by the fact that’d I’d be perfectly content using my own plate here as a pillow right now I take it we’re all pretty wrung dry.” 

“Point made.” The Doctor swallows the last bite with impressive gusto and brushes her hands off on her shirt. “Better idea, though, have I ever showed you lot the library?” 

“You’ve got a library?” Ryan prompts, but he shouldn’t be surprised.

“More of a rest area than a library. Millions of books and I’ve only read a handful. Very comfy sofa, though. Fit for four. Might also be a fireplace if the TARDIS has forgiven me for that time I burnt a hole in the wall. Plus,” She doesn’t give anyone a chance to question. “I take it no one’s necessarily in the right mood to be alone tonight.” 

Ryan would never,  _ ever  _ admit it on his own, but she’s not wrong. He feels like he’s wearing an extra skin -  a thick layer of his unease that’s been so  _ rudely  _ enhanced. It’s the Tru’kiel’s fault, he knows. He wondered if the attacks would have any repercussions. Everyone’s alright, everyone’s alive, but from the tired looks on their faces he acknowledges that everyone feels equally wounded as himself. None of them should be alone right now. 

The Doctor specifically. Ryan doesn’t miss the way her eyes skate over each of them, fixating briefly on himself and the others as she takes in all the visual information she can. She’s still fretful, still guilty. The offer is more for herself than the rest of them. 

“Love a good sofa.” He provides. “Sounds good to me.” 

“And I’ve got to see this library.” Graham pushes his chair away from the table and rises to his feet. 

“Can we bring the tea?” Yaz grabs her cup and clasps it warmly between her palms. 

“Oh, definitely. Great tea drinking spot.” The Doctor scoops up her cup as well and nods in the direction of the corridor, signaling them all to follow and taking the lead. “Come on, then.” 

Ryan gives Graham a sudden, uncharacteristically warm smile before falling into step behind Yaz.

* * *

 

“Why’s the fireplace so far from the sofa?” 

“And why are there no ladders to get to the top shelf books?” 

“Oi, the TARDIS designed it, alright? Take up your complaints with her.” 

Coat strung over the back of the sofa, empty tea cups resting on the ottoman that sits annoying far from everyone’s feet, the Doctor sinks back heavily against the cushions. 

The comfy four-seater fits them perfectly. Yaz breathes contently at her right, Ryan gawks over the unnecessary size of the library at her left, and on the other side of him Graham is already fighting against the pull of sleep. 

She looks at their tired but tension-free faces and relaxes a bit, but finds herself unable to sit entirely at ease. 

She’s exhausted, they all are, but she’s not ready to let them out of her sight. 

Yaz sits up a little straighter, shoulder comfortably pressed against the Doctor’s and she leans into it a fraction. “Why  _ is  _ the fireplace so far away, though? Can’t even feel the heat from here.” 

“Didn’t realize you three were the decor police.” She grumbles and earns a cheerful laugh.

“Left my badge at the station.” Graham chuckles. “I’m writing you up for impractical arranging.” 

“Take it up with the  _ TARDIS. _ ” She restates, grins easily at content nature to her friends’ smiles. It’s good to see them laughing. 

All four of them are perfectly at ease settling into the safe, quiet company of one another, free of threat at last.

The Doctor bows her head and lets her eyes slide shut. This is one that feels like a narrow escape,  _ too  _ close of a call, even if their lives were never truly at stake. All she can do is be endlessly, eternally thankful, and listen to the sound of breaths in and out and heartbeats contently thudding away. 

“So, Doc,” Graham hunches forward to rest his elbows on his knees, hands twisted together and gaze soon falling on her own. “All that stuff you said back there about the people that travel with you. Did you mean it?” 

She looks at him, curious and beseeching. “Should I not have?” 

Graham is quick to shake his head. “You hit the nail on the head, actually.” He grips his hands tightly. “Even if I didn’t realize it at first. I decided to travel with you because I was running from my grief, and I thought if there was gonna be  _ any  _ result from that it would just be an end to the running.” He smiles something both sad and hopeful and looks away. “You told us back in Sheffield that we wouldn’t be the same people we once were when we return home. I thought you meant that in a bad way, to be honest.” 

“Me too.” Yaz huffs and twists in her seat to meet their eyes more comfortably. “But it really,  _ really  _ wasn’t.” 

“I’m with them. You were right.” Ryan chimes in, and the Doctor whips her head back around to look him in the eye. “We’re stronger, thanks to you. Even if that speech back there was a  _ bit  _ self righteous.” 

“Oi,” She smacks his shoulder. “I’m not the universe, I just pilot you there.” 

All three of them somehow wear an identical, knowing, heartfelt smile. 

“I’m glad you feel that way, though.” She sighs a shadow of a laugh and looks into the fire. “It’s not always a good thing, you know. Some people turn soldier, some just end up reckless and overkeen until it kills them.” Her words are blunt and sudden. “Some are too much like me.” 

A pause to process until Graham snickers. 

“Well if it makes you feel any better, I still think you’re bonkers.” He leans over to smack her knee as punctuation. “But you’re brilliant. We’ve learned a lot from you, and it’s weirdly comforting to know that you’re still learning as well.” 

“I don’t regret anything.” Ryan assures, tone confident. “Even after today.” 

Their reassurance makes good progress in smoothing over the guilt that still claws at the Doctor’s chest. She looks back to Yaz to find her already gazing up fondly, smile warm and kind, eyes meeting hers and saying everything that she doesn’t have to say aloud. 

She sighs out most of the remaining tension, dread, and sadness that makes her limbs feel weak. Yaz’s weight against her side starts to cause her right arm to tingle, so she slides it out from between their bodies and drops it comfortably over her friend’s shoulders. 

Yaz shifts and rests her head in the crook of her arm, and the Doctor finds it perfectly natural, easy and somehow personally soothing to drop a kiss to the top of her head. 

“How’s everyone feeling?” She looks back and forth, makes a point to ignore Ryan’s poorly concealed smirk at her uncharacteristic action. 

“Oh, you know.” Graham leans back again. “Like I’ve just spent the past day or so under lock and key by aliens that thinks it’s all fine and dandy to put you through hell.” He huffs. “But at the same time, pretty alright considering.” 

“And Ryan?” She shifts her gaze. 

“Yeah.” He nods slowly. “Got some baggage I need to work through, apparently. Still sort of feel like I’m being messed with, but I know I’m not. It all just-” He gestures vaguely to his head and the memories that go on within it. He sighs something akin to defeat, and gets it all out in the open. “Hurts more than usual.” 

“Me too.” Yaz muses, voice slightly muffled. “Even though I, you know...” She trails off, knowing she doesn’t have to explain. “Will that go away?” 

“It will.” The Doctor promises and subconsciously pulls Yaz closer to her side, eyeing the boys. “I feel it too. Sort of a repercussion, but it’s temporary.” 

“Like a wound, yeah?” Graham wonders. 

“Wound. Not a scar.” Tone firm, words heartfelt. “We all learned a bit more than we were hoping for today, but let’s use that. Help each other.” 

“Only if you let us help you too.” Yaz squeezes her wrist softly. A snag on her attention.

Her first instinct is to deny, insist that she’s put up with  _ her  _ sort of baggage for a long time now. She’s pretty good at coping, considering. At least she thinks so. 

“Yeah.” She whispers instead. “I’ll have that.” 

She’s exhausted, head’s still a bit fuzzy, and for once she thinks she might actually require a full eight or nine hours of rehabilitative sleep. But for the first time in too long, overpowering everything else, the Doctor feels at peace. 

A few minutes of contemplative quiet and appreciated silent companionship. Yaz’s breathing evens out and she starts to snore quietly against the Doctor’s side. 

Graham snickers. “Didn’t know she was a snorer.” 

“Should’ve heard her when she’d nod off in class, back in the day.” Ryan smiles at the memory and watches his friend fondly, elbowing the Doctor’s arm after a moment. “She alright?” 

“Yeah.” The Doctor assures quietly, drops her head to admire the smooth ease to Yaz’s features. A much deserved peaceful rest. “She’s alright.” 

“So, are you two…” Graham quirks a brow in question.    
  
“We’re not anything.” Her voice softens a few more notches. It’s a wonder the way Yaz curls so comfortably against her, inhibitions out the window, a clear visual reflection of the way the Doctor’s own soul quiets and her body relaxes. Maybe this is what she’s needed. “But we’re not nothing.” 

Ryan and Graham smile in time, visibly satisfied with her response. 

The Doctor drops her head against Yaz’s and closes her eyes, counts the breaths it takes for the boys to finally drift off. 

_ Very  _ comfy sofa. 

“Thank you. All of you.” Her whispered words fall on her ears alone. 

She might be an idiot sometimes, she might make the wrong decisions and do or say all the wrong things, but at least she chooses her friends well. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE PLEASE let me know your final thoughts!! what you liked or didn’t like, etc. ALSO, i want to start taking one shot prompts again because i need to put my huge multi chapter story ideas on the back burner for a while. so if you have any requests, hmu here or on my tumblr (strikingtwelves)
> 
> thank you all!!!!!

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr: @strikingtwelves
> 
> Questions, comments, concerns, love it? Hate it? Youtuber voice: lemme know in the comment section down below


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